This is not the story of the downfall of Colette Evans or the Northwood Shooting - but the aftermath. It is about the death, the doom and the mourning. It is about the whys and the could-haves. It is about the almosts and the in-betweens. It is about all the broken pieces she left behind.
A pair of earrings. A pretty dress. A single question. That is how it starts. I remember the start as clearly as I do the end, with absolute and undying certainty that it's almost cloying to think about. I remember where I begin, and I remember where I fall apart - but everything in-between, the climax and the turnin...