Two years and I still miss her. Only now can I face the attic, where I dumped the things she left behind.
I search for Meg’s digital camera. I want the last photograph of her, the one I took the night she went.
We argued, I can’t remember why, and Meg walked out of the party and out of my life.
If I hadn’t been drunk, she wouldn’t have left and wouldn’t have been in the taxi when it lost control in the fog.
Meg is smiling at me in the picture. My heart breaks all over again.