The love of my life got into a drunk-driving accident when he was 24 years old. He blacked out and wrapped his car around a tree, and then spent weeks in the hospital (shattered ribs, broken collarbone, collapsed lung). The scar from where the seatbelt went through his shoulder is still quite livid, and I have spent many an evening picking pieces of broken glass and plastic from his chest with tweezers.

He's 38 years old. Fourteen years on, and still he's daily reminded that he should be grateful he had no passengers, and that he hit a tree instead of another person.

I'm glad that he lived. I'm glad that I got the chance to know him. But if Dunn was drinking, I can't feel too much sympathy for him, only for his family and his passenger and passenger's family. What a stupid choice to make.