There's never one point where something clicks.

Some like to believe there is, that hobbies or skills reach a well-defined turning point,

an on-off switch.

It's never that simple.

Even the most abrupt of changes occur over time, not in discrete quantum moments.

That's why the worst changes are still able to creep up on us, stalking us, strengthening their grasp, and when we finally realize, it's already too late.

As quickly as Jamie transitioned from a living, breathing person to a dribbling slab of mangled flesh and bone, the same rule applies.

It happened over the course of what, seven, eight seconds?

To me, it felt like lifetimes until that moment.

It was the third day of our honeymoon and Granada when it happened.

Our boat hovered around the edge of the bay, and at the time I couldn't have wished for any greater bliss.

Until that bliss, too, changed, ripped away like stitches from a fresh wound.

Maybe if I'd gotten bored of my book sooner, put it down and looked across the still waters,

I'd have seen it coming.

But it's always so easy to think what if, isn't it?

A rogue fishing vessel bow crunching through the decking boards.

Jamie wheeling around, the sunshades slipping past her dark bangs and bouncing off the railing, I heard every

intricacy and every sound, every minor crack of wood pinging screws, every last

shrill tone in the fraction of a second she had to scream until eventually the world settled

clearing its fog and presenting me with a bitter end to something that should have lasted forever.

I don't like to think about it really.

Perhaps putting it into words will ease some weight, but I doubt it.

...