They told me what happened but they need not have bothered. I could have guessed by myself. It was dark. The tears in her eyes would have made the street lights run like wet ink. She'd dash them away, she wouldn't see the car. Glass on the floor like pebbles.

'How would you feel if I died?'
Such a random question, asked so many times. So like her.
And my customary reply: 'I'd feel sad.' A pause. 'Why do you keep asking?'
A comma's worth of silence. Her face gives away nothing.
And then: 'No reason. I'm just asking, that's all.'

I never got it. It never clicked - such a seemingly random question. Why ask at all? Why keep asking?

But now, standing by her while she lies in state, I realise. Isn't that awful? I finally get it, Anna. I see what you meant.

But the last laugh's with me, isn't it? Because I do feel sad. You asked me so many times because you wanted the right answer, but all along it was right. I expected this. I just didn't expect this crushing regret. All the things I could have said, done. I sent you to your death without ever telling you once. It's killing me.

Typical Anna, always trying to save me.

I always said it would be the death of you.