She flips through it, practiced eyes skimming the form, the crime scene photos-- that's what this was, it was the file from his death, the autopsy was only part of it. She soaks it all in, but then she stops. She stops, and the way she pulls in her breath is anything but good, her brows furrowing as she flips it closed, running her hand down her face until she's rubbing her hand over her mouth.

She doesn't know how to say what she's got to say. What she's got to tell him.

"You're not him," she says first, her voice oddly faint. "He..." Not you. "Rode his bike straight into the path of a semi." Her voice cracks on the last word, and the file drops to the comforter, as Tara pulls in a breath. The man she left - the one who lost her, who lost everything -- he'd lose himself, in the end. More than she'd ever guessed.