In between fragments of twisted metal, amongst the shards of broken glass, embedded in man-made materials, is your husband.
In between the crumpled mess of wires, amongst the wreckage of the car, entombed in synthetic fabrics, is the man you cherished.
That is, what’s left of him; a spaghetti of bones and blood, ligaments and limbs.
You’re grief-stricken. Desolate. Anguished. Heartbroken.
Everyone knew how much you adored him; you spoke of little else.
Although he really died four years, two months, eighteen days and five hours ago when your relentless and merciless psychological bullying broke his spirit.
Finally he’s happy.