Chapter 1

The phone call came on a Tuesday morning, the kind of Austin morning where the heat already felt heavy.

I was at the community college library, shelving books, my mind still replaying last night' s argument with Jay.

His music, always his music.

"It' s a gig, Em, out of state, but it' s a good one."

"Another one, Jay? What about us? The bills?"

His face had tightened, that charismatic smile gone, "You don' t support me."

"I support us having a life, not just chasing a dream that' s going nowhere."

The words hung there, ugly and true. He' d slammed the door.

Now, the phone vibrated in my pocket. Unknown number.

"Hello?"

A gruff voice, official sounding, "Are you Emily Carter, wife of Jason Miller?"

A cold knot formed in my stomach, "Yes, that' s me."

"Ma' am, I' m Officer Ramirez with the Highway Patrol. There' s been an accident."

The library, the books, everything faded.

"An accident?"

"A single-vehicle car crash on Highway 71, early this morning. A fire. I' m sorry, ma' am, but your husband… he didn' t make it."

He didn' t make it.

The words didn' t make sense. Jay. Dead?

I sank to the floor, the phone clattering beside me.

The world went silent, then rushed back in a wave of nausea and disbelief.

Jay, who always bounced back, always had a plan, a new song, a new hope.

Gone.

The funeral was a blur. His bandmates, a few distant relatives I barely knew.

Aunt Carol, Jay' s aunt who mostly raised him, held my hand, her own trembling.

"He was always chasing something, Emily," she' d whispered, her eyes red.

Days turned into weeks. The apartment felt too big, too quiet.

His side of the bed was cold. His guitar stood silent in the corner.

I stopped going to work. Some days, I didn' t get out of bed.

The grief was a physical weight, crushing me.

Aunt Carol would visit, bringing groceries I didn' t eat.

One afternoon, she sat on the edge of my sofa, twisting a handkerchief in her hands.

"You know, Emily," she said, her voice soft, almost hesitant, "sometimes a fresh start is all someone needs."

I looked at her, confused, "A fresh start?"

"Yes, dear. To leave the past behind. Sometimes it' s the only way."

I dismissed it. Grief made people say strange things.

I was just trying to survive the days, the nights.

The image of his car, a mangled, burnt wreck the police photos showed, haunted my sleep.

Our last argument played on a loop, my harsh words, his slammed door.

If only I hadn' t said those things. If only he hadn' t left.

Depression wrapped around me, a suffocating blanket.

Jay was gone, and a part of me had died with him.