A police officer from New Mexico told him there had been a severe highway accident.
A vehicle had rolled multiple times, caught fire, and the identification matched Hannah and the two children.
Michael drove without memory.
At the station they told him the same thing—no bodies could be visually identified, only “belongings” and “documents.”
He was too shattered to question anything.
He arranged a funeral so grand it felt grotesque.
White coffins too small.
Flowers so many that the church smelled like a garden in bloom.
People crying everywhere.
And he buried his daughters believing he would never hear their voices again.
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