WARNING: This chapter contains drug abuse, alcohol abuse, and adult language. Also, quite a bit of angry fighting/arguing.

When they arrived home, neither could say anything. Maureen insisted her parents go home. Roger made a tearful call to his parents telling them of the accident. They had yet to discuss the accident or the fight leading up to it.

Roger hung up the phone from talking to his parents. He found Maureen in Aaron's bedroom. She was knelt beside the bed, sobbing as she clutched his blanket. Roger crouched down and cradled her in his arms.

"Why wasn't it me?" she choked out.

Roger shook his head. "What?"

"I was driving…I—I…it should've been me…"

"No, baby, no…don't do that. It's not your fault," he said, stroking her hair.

They cried together until they fell into a restless, uneasy sleep on Aaron's floor.

By the end of the funeral, Maureen was numb. She watched in shock as the little coffin lowered into the grave. Roger held onto her, his eyes red with tears. They shook hands and accepted condolences as they waited for the mourners to leave.

When everyone had departed, Roger led Maureen to the car. She'd refused to drive since the accident and avoided even riding in cars. Roger held her hand tightly, glancing over every few minutes to make sure she was breathing steadily.

Roger pulled into the driveway. Maureen got out and went inside without waiting for him.

The next week passed with Roger and Maureen both in a daze. Maureen cried herself to sleep every night. Roger felt his heart break a little more each time he saw something of Aaron's.

Roger quickly used up the rest of his insurance policy, praying to forget, to be numb. He found Pete and began buying regularly. It wasn't enough to make him forget but at least now he didn't hurt as much. Maureen saw him leaving at strange hours, coming home stoned. She wanted to care, wanted to yell at him, but couldn't bring herself to. Instead, she ignored Roger. As long as he was there when she went to sleep, as long as he held her while she cried herself to sleep, she didn't give a damn what he did.

One afternoon, Roger returned home and found Maureen in their closet, looking through pockets. Through his pockets. She stopped and went to the dresser.

"Maureen, what—"

"Leave me alone," she said, not looking at him.

Roger nodded and went to the kitchen for a beer. A minute later, he came out of the kitchen and saw Maureen standing at the end of the hallway. She held up a baggie.

"What is it?" Her voice wasn't angry or accusatory, merely curious.

"Smack. Heroin."

"What does it do?"

"What?"

"I want to forget."

Tears stung his eyes. "Maureen—"

"Will it help me forget?"

"Yes," he whispered, "for a little while."

Maureen's tears streamed down her cheeks, yet her voice held a calmness it hadn't had since before the accident. "Show me."

"What?"

"Show me. I want to do it."

"No," he said, shaking his head.

"Damn it, Roger! Help me do this. I want to forget!"

Roger shook his head again and stepped towards her. "Baby, no…no, you can't….You're better than this. Please, baby—"

Maureen shoved him away from her. "Don't! Don't tell me that! I can't do this, Roger! It hurts too much, just help me stop hurting…"

Roger caught her as she collapsed into sobs. He wrenched the baggie from her hand and threw it down the hall.

"I miss him…I miss him so much…"

Roger's own cries choked him. "Me too…I know, I know…"

One night, Roger slipped out of the house, desperate for a hit. He didn't plan to be gone long. As he staggered home, the sun began to rise. He came in slowly, hoping Maureen was still asleep.

"Where were you?"

"Maureen, I—" he turned and saw her sitting with a bottle of wine. "Isn't it a little early to be—"

"Don't you dare lecture me, you fuckin' hypocrite."

"Excuse me?"

"You're stoned! I can tell from across the damn room. At least I don't do this every goddamn day!"

"Well excuse me, princess. I'm sorry I'm not as perfect as you are!"

She shook her head. "This isn't about perfection. It's about keeping promises. You broke your promise and our son is dead!"

"And that's my fault?"

"We were leaving because you couldn't stop that shit!"

"You were the one driving the car! You chose to leave and you chose to take him with you and you were driving the fucking car, so don't you tell me it was my goddamn fault!"

Maureen flung the near-empty wine bottle, narrowly missing Roger's head. She knocked past him and went to Aaron's room. She slammed the door shut and leaned against it as she sank to the ground, crying.

Roger stood stunned for a minute. Why had he said that? Why was he being such an asshole? He wanted to apologize, to swear off drugs forever, to take back everything that had happened…everything he'd said. Maureen slipped out of the bedroom and went to the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later, she was still in the bathroom. Roger grew concerned. He didn't hear her moving around or crying. Not that he wanted her to cry, but some sound…He knocked on the door.

"Maureen? Baby, are you okay?"

No answer.

"Maureen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

No answer.

Roger tried to open the door. Locked. He knocked again. "Maureen! Baby, just answer me and let me know you're okay."

Maureen opened the door. Roger sighed in relief. He reached for her but she held her hands up to push him away.

"I want a divorce," she said softly.

Roger stood, shocked, as she breezed past him and went to the phone. He stepped into the bathroom and found the baggie he'd hidden in there. A minute later, he'd filled a syringe. He looked around for something to tie off with. His eyes fell on Aaron's belt. Crying again, Roger dumped the contents of the syringe into the toilet with the remainder of the drug in the bag.

Maureen saw him do it. She cleared her throat. Roger straightened up and turned to face her.

"I just wanted to let you know my sister's coming to pick me up. I'm staying with her."

"Maureen, I didn't—"

She held up a hand. "Roger, please. Don't. Whatever you're going to say, don't. I-I can't do this anymore."

Roger nodded, too exhausted to argue.