My husband tries to reason with me that I am in no condition to drive, but I am currently unreasonable and get in the car anyway. Somehow, I navigate the familiar way to her building while carrying the most unfamiliar feeling in my gut.

My dad is walking up as I pull into the driveway. Once I say the thing I came to say, his world will collapse like mine just did. How does one say a sentence like this? We sit on a bench. I somehow say it in between sobs. His face goes blank. He sheds a tear but says nothing. This is how he deals with grief.

My mom isn’t home. She’s out with friends: a movie and an early dinner. So, I pace the floor while she enjoys her final moments of ignorant bliss. My husband comes in with the baby who gets hysterical when I get hysterical, so I try to stay calm.

My brother’s business manager calls. He is kind. He sends condolences. He says he was there when the detectives were there. He says something about a coroner’s notice being affixed to the front door of the house telling the world he has died. He tells me he doesn’t want to rush me and knows this is a deeply personal time, but that once the news gets out, it will be a runaway train. It will be totally out of our control. So, I need to tell my mom as soon as possible. I don’t fully understand what he means. He is my brother. He is my brother who died. I don’t realize who he is to everyone else.

My mom is still not home. I don’t know what to do. I text her and ask where she is. I don’t want to say too much. I don’t want her to drive knowing what I know. She says she’s at some sushi restaurant and texts me a picture of her dinner. I ask if she’s playing cards later tonight. She asks why — what’s wrong? I say nothing.

The phone rings at 6:45 pm. It’s one of Harris’ closest friends who rarely, if ever, calls. He tells me TMZ leaked the story. He asks if it’s true.