Dom asks me if I want to share some more.
"Car accident. Texting driver. Dead husband and daughter."

I'm asked what I was doing at the time.

"Peter left me a voicemail while he was in the car and I was in the shower. I was listening to it before my phone beeped and the hospital was on the other end."

I'm asked what my feelings were when I got the call.

"They were getting me ice cream," I mutter.

Dom asks me to repeat that.

"There's this ice cream flavour I like at a store across town. They were there for me and then they were at that intersection because of the detour. They should've gone straight home from Cherry's school, but they didn't. For me."

No one makes a sound.
Wes' hand covers mine.
Across the circle, Dom clears his throat.
"We don't place blame here."

"What if it is your fault?"

I don't go back the following week.