Spencer got home from work as the darkness of the autumn evening closed around her. She was getting home later and later these days and had to make an effort to leave earlier. She unlocked the door of her apartment and let herself in. She busied herself, making dinner, tidying up, generally musing about. As she dusted she made her way along the bookshelf; to her photos. Her family, smiling, larking about in the way they always did. Spencer wondered if they were ever as happy as they looked in those photos. Before things fell apart.

But they did fall apart Spence, a voice whispered in her head. They did.

She picked up a photo of her and Glen, smiling. He was ruffling her hair and she had her arms around his waist, hugging him from the side. Spencer felt the warmth of tears slipping down over her cheeks. Dropping the duster, she hugged Glen’s photo to her chest and fell into a chair. Pulling her knees up, she buried her head and sobbed.

It had been 8 long years since the night that Glen had died and the night that Spencer had watched the world as she knew it twirl away. She could remember the night like it was right in front of her, and the clutch in her chest had barely lessened since.

The smell of rubber burning off the bitumen, Spencer stood, watching in horror as the red convertible stripped backwards in a cloud of smoke. The sound of flesh hitting the pavement, of Glen’s tortured screams. The vision of red and blue lights as they shone, spinning, in the puddles. The numbness in the cold, as I watched you walk away, into the fog and the night.

Spencer jerked out of her revery, squeezing her eyes and trying to still her shaking body. It was too hard at this time of year. She jumped up, placing Glen back on the shelf where he belonged, and began her long nightly ritual of cleaning her flat from top to bottom. This time, she would exhaust herself completely. This time, she would sleep.

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