Standing on the shore, staring out at the calm open water. The tissue in my palm, wet from the evening. Red and blue lights glow on the under sides of the trees and boats float gently along the surface of the lake. The water, dark as night and as cold as the first day of January. The paddles slowly grip the water, pushing it aside. Tears run from the corners of my husband's eyes as he stands near me.

A diver returns to the surface. A mask covers his face, but the signal comes across loud and clear. A single thumbs up, forces my stomach to rise to my mouth. My husband covers his face with his hands as I stroke his back to soothe him.

He was eating dinner, when the car drove into the lake. I wasn’t going to be home until much later, but I managed to finish up at work earlier than expected. Shortly after I arrived, authorities started showing up.

“What happened?” I ask to no avail. “Bill, what is wrong? What's going on?” All of my questions go unanswered.

So here we stand. Watching and waiting for the events to unfold. As the sun starts to pierce the horizon, a tow truck starts pulling the car from the waters. The dark colored car emerges covered in muck and mud. Dirty water pours from the doors and windows in swells.

“Honey, it's early. There is nothing we can do. Why don't we get some rest?” It is too difficult to watch, but my husband is rooted to the spot.

An officer gently waves us over. He opens the door and the remaining water falls out. Peaking between cold fingers, my husband shakes his head. My view inside the vehicle is obstructed as I stand behind my husband, but my gaze is drawn to the officer. His head hangs. I step forward to see what they see. In the driver seat sits a woman. Her long, wet hair covers her face. Her body is slumped to the side and although her exterior is drenched, I recognize her. She is me.