It's around six thirty when I'm getting ready for him, putting on my best blouse. He told me we were going somewhere nice tonight to celebrate. Curling my hair, I hear the phone ring.
I run out to the main room, humming softly. Picking up the phone, I answer, "Hello?"
"Hello, is Sandy Curtis there?" An official-sounding male's voice says on the other end.
I smile a little when he says what he thinks is my last name. "Speaking."
There's a few moments of silence. Uncomfortable, melancholy silence. I know something is wrong. I can feel this sick, horrible feeling of hopelessness before I'm even told what happened.
"I'm afraid there's been an accident..."
He tells me what's happened.
I drop the phone on the floor.
