It was late August.

Outside, the pavement still held the day’s heat.

Cars moved through the hospital entrance, headlights crossing the glass doors.

I remember thinking that people would complain about traffic on that highway the next morning without knowing which stretch of it had ended my life as I understood it.

I was alive.

My husband and both children were not.

The difference was too large to explain to anyone talking about cake.

PART 2 — The People Who Arrived