“It’s never predictable, you know. How a heart reacts to loss. I’ll go three days without thinking about Isabelle, and on the fourth morning I’ll smell her perfume at a café or hear her laughter in someone else’s mouth, and I’ll be catapulted back into the thick of it. I never know when it’ll happen, I can never anticipate how it’ll feel. Some days, I shake off the worst of it. Some days, I’ll find a church to cry in. Some days, I drink. Every day is new, at least. I open my eyes and find a way to live without her.”
