I heard someone calling to me from behind as I fled, plopping Moose in the passenger seat and speeding away in my Chevy. Why is this happening to me? Why can’t I do anything without being reminded of you Kat? Why must I constantly be reminded of how wonderful our life was together and how much shittier the world is now that you’re not in it?

I know men are not supposed to cry, but as I speed down the expressway, salty drops still cloud my vision. I pull over when the sobs are wracking my body and I can’t see anymore. God damnit Kat, I can’t live like this! I can’t live with our cat and our house and our memories and no us! I weep like a little girl, not caring about typical male stereotypes because the pain in my chest is growing and growing and I’m starting to feel like I can’t breathe.

A car behind me honks and I look into the rearview to see a little Honda Civic parked behind me. Katelyn gets out retrieves something from the backseat. I groan and want to die because I can see her walking towards my car.