You made the decision to text while driving. It was dark and raining hard; I was stopped at a red light. At that very moment who knew my life would change forever? I was very successful in my career, grounded, happy and healthy. You stole my life. You stole my children’s mother since that day. The roles have reversed; they are parenting me rather than enjoying their childhood. When it rains, I get scared—I used to love the rain. I’m scared to let my children go out in fear that they meet another you. They might not be as lucky as I was. They might lose their lives. I’ve simply lost three years of my life to pain; in moments I couldn’t share with my children, in not being able to work, and in having to downgrade my life. In two days, I will be in discovery defending myself and discussing the degree of my injuries and my trauma. It doesn’t seem fair to me at all. I will not see you at my discovery; it will only be our lawyers in the room—so once more you get away. Your freedom does not seem very fair too me. I wonder if you even know how much you’ve hurt me. Do you still text and drive? I wonder what you would tell my son when he helps me out of the bathtub because I can no longer use my left side. Was that text really so important? I’m so angry at you. You took my life away!