On the day of the crash, my husband
Ethan carried my sister Claire out first, though she had barely a scratch, leaving me,
ten weeks pregnant, pinned in the back seat. A year later he took Claire to the beach
and cut the power, leaving me to starve. I drank toilet water, then died beside the
fridge. The police found he had been with Claire all along and blocked my recovery,
fearing I would remember who he saved first. Charged with negligent homicide, he
confessed. Beside him: this time, I quit.
