I opened the door to see Officer Reynolds, snow melting off his jacket, and sorrow already spread across his face as if he’d practiced it in the mirror. There had been an accident. The rural road Michael was driving on had iced over. Their car had gone off the shoulder and crashed into the trees.
My son was gone. Rachel and my oldest grandson, Sam — just eight years old — hadn’t made it either. Only Emily survived. She was five years old.
