"Where were you when I needed you?" she cried right at the end of his nose.
"I'm sorry. I don't know what else you want me to say!" he shouted back.
"Sorry's not good enough! Get out!" she screamed, pointing toward the front room.
"C'mon now, we can talk about this!" he pleaded.
"There's nothing to talk about! You and I are done!" she roared, pushing him toward the door.
"Fine!" he retorted before grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair and exiting through the front.
Angry at both himself and her, he slammed the car door and sped out onto the street. Turning the radio dial up full blast, he pressed the gas pedal nearly to the floor. Squealing tires, he swerved onto a back road. Slamming his fist against the steering wheel, he took the first curve too fast. Sliding in the loose gravel, he jerked the wheel to the left, overcorrecting and causing the car to flip.
When the dust settled, he opened his eyes to find the car resting on its roof, the driver's side pinned against a tree. Wiping his forehead, he realized he was bleeding. Beginning to panic, he reached across the passenger seat and pulled himself out through the shattered window.
Once out of the car, he stumbled over to a short masonry wall in front of a small, two-story gray brick house and had a seat. He sat there for what seemed like hours until another motorist drove by, saw the wrecked car, and quickly went to call for help.
A short time later, a police car and an ambulance arrived. He watched from the stone wall, expecting them to ask if he needed medical attention, but they never did. The policeman got down on his knees and peeked into the car. Getting back to his feet, he shook his head sadly. A few moments later, two paramedics carefully removed a body from the wreckage and covered it with a sheet. Still sitting on the rock wall, he touched his forehead only to discover he was no longer bleeding. A tear slid down his cheek as the reality of his situation began to set in.