I can't listen to breakup songs anymore.

It's March in Chicago, and still, I have my windows open. The icy air bursts through the cracks and freezes the streaks of tears on my face. No one is on the roads and I maneuver the car with muscle memory, it's all I have left. Quietly, a song I don't know plays under the sound of the wind. I don't focus on the words to know what they say, I don't care. The melody and the wind intertwine to make a new melody of drunken pain.

I feel nothing.

A red light appears before me and I break without really wanting to. There's a bridge ahead. If I tilted the steering wheel to the right just enough I would never feet again.

"If this is what I feel, I can't imagine her pain," I whisper to the street light that waits for no one to cross the intersection. I never thought I would ever have to consul a grieving wife. At least I never thought I would have to do it at 24 years old. And this grief is worse.

With the death of a husband, there are steps of grief. There is a closed chapter. The wedding photos will one day go in a box and a new chapter will begin. But this grief is so much heavier. She will still see him, still hear his voice on occasion, still have the pain that will follow her for years to come. She will move forward questioning everything about herself and her choices. She won't be able to trust easily.

She was crumpled on the couch when I arrived hours before. Not crying. Not moving. Just sitting, thinking, stuck in the memories of what should never have happened. We sat in the massive living room of the multi-million dollar house her husband had bought for them less than a year before.

His business was doing well, really well. Was that why?

Minutes of silence passed. No one spoke not wanting to break her thoughts of pain she must have been walking through. Tentatively, I put myself in her shoes. I should have stayed in my seat on the couch surrounded by the soft blanket, but I needed to help her. I needed to feel what she felt. The instant my heart imagined her pain it shattered all around me. The dark room I entered was now filled with slivers of glass all around. It covered the floor and floated around me in every direction. I took a step, knowing I couldn't stand idle, it would just break me even more. I tried to find a door, a way out of the darkness. I felt every shattered piece cut into my bare feet. liquid dripped down my cheek, I thought it was a tear, but when I swiped my hand over my cheek to whip it away crimson covered my palm. With every step, I wanted to cry out but there was no sound. The air was stiff, pressing against my skin, making it more and more difficult to move around the space. Tears moved silently down my face. When I reached the edge of the shattered glass I thought I would find a door, but there was nothing but a dark expanse without end.

Is this what she felt?

She spoke and I was taken from that dark room and placed back in the living room, encased in a cloud blanket. I let out a sigh of relief.

"How?" Her voice cracked on the word. She wasn't speaking to us, no she was alone with her thoughts and that was the scariest thing of all. "He said he loved me, how could he hurt me like this?" She licked her dry lips.

It had been a long time since she had eaten or even drank anything. None of us knew how to push her to do so.

"I want to hate her," she shook her head and I thought maybe she would cry, but still she sat strong. "But I can't. He did this to me and she will always just be the whore that slept with my husband."

The light turned green. My foot didn't move from the break. We all thought we knew him, truly believed he loved her. But his love was fleeting, weak in the face of challenge and temptation. Subconsciously, I twisted the band on my left hand. There wasn't enough light to make the diamond sparkle. There were no other lights on the road save for the street lights that just brought more shadows to the space around me.

In the final minutes of the drive words, unbidden pounded in my mind and my heart...

will he do it too?

I sat in the driveway for some final shaking breaths as I tried to calm my heart. They were friends, will he lead my husband down the same path of brokenness? Has he already planted seeds? Would we one day share the same pain?

Every muscle in my body was heavy as I trudged up the steps of our home. Would it one day be filled with consoling friends as I tried to make sense of my broken reflection?

The front door opened before I could reach for the handle and there he was. His broad shoulders filled the doorframe and the light from the entryway cast his face in shadow. I couldn't move. I pressed my lips together not knowing what to say. How do you tell the man you love that you are shared his love isn't enough?

I didn't need to say a word. He stepped forward and wrapped me in an embrace. One I had not felt in a long time. One that was close, it connected us far beyond sink to skin. Then he kissed me and my soul met his. The kiss was more, more than his lips against mine. Through his lips he spoke to me, he reminded me of the vows we took and in that space, the space that did not hold two people but one I realized the difference. He meant it. He meant the words he spoke to me three years before. He meant through sickness and health, for rich and for poor. He meant he would love me through every trial.

He moved his hands to cup my cheeks, covering the wet streaks with his warm hands. I wasn't ready for the kiss to end, but I looked up into his deep brown eyes, the eyes that reminded me of warm chocolate. Eyes that spoke every word he never needed to say out loud.

I would always choose him, and he, in that moment, told me he would always choose me too.