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In every aspect her life was over, except the part where she was still alive. This was a mere technicality, as she saw it, since her reason for
living, her soul, and her primeval instinct to stay alive had vanished. One second. One blink. One heartbeat. One bullet. One bullet and her
life was changed forever. No, not changed, flipped upside down, spun around, and then shaken so hard that she would never find her way
back to the way things were before. She knew that her life would never be the same again, not even close. She had never been good with
people, especially victims' families. Now she knew why. Now she knew what it was like, to be the fragile champagne glass as the tablecloth
is ripped out from under you and you shatter on the marble floor. Well she had never thought of herself as being particularly fragile, but
now… now she is a shell, a ghost, a living phantom. Temperance Brennan, for she is no longer Bones. Bones was what he called her, and, as
much as she refused to admit it, she was his Bones. And only his Bones.