Panel 1: Jillian smiles as James talks from the other end of the phone: “Yeah we’ll totally come once we’re finished here!”

Jillian: “Good, I’ll let him know.”

James: “So what’s his real name? And are we taking bets on how the other one comes out, because with your track record it’s just a matter of time.”

Panel 2: Jillian’s smile becomes a knowing smirk: “His name is Darrell. And if you’re talking about Taylor, I can’t get a read on him.”

James: “Gay. Calling it now. Place your bets.”

Jillian: “I’m not betting on this.”

Panel 3: James: “Ahhh you’re too close to him anyway. It’s an unfair advantage.”

Jillian, amused: “I’m going to let you go now, James.”

James: “Fine, I guess we’ll get back to work.”

Jillian: “Give my love to Gael.”

Panel 4: Still amused,Jillian looks at her phone a moment as she hangs up.

Panel 5: A memory we’ve seen recently resurfaces in sepia tones: Jillian, a brand new dauor, on her knees in the road crying into her hands.

Panel 6: In the present, her expression turns sad and mournful.

Panel 7: Another flashback: her wife, distraught and weeping, desperately reaches out.

Panel 8: The flashback changes to a different scene. Darrell sits on the ground, looking as if he’d collapsed there. Before him are three fresh graves with numerous flowers overtaking temporary grave markers. The grave on the far left has recently been dug up. In the background, across the graveyard, Jillian’s old Lexus is parked on the side of the street. Darrell’s arms, legs, and feet are bare aside from a small amount of white fabric that ends at his knees, and Jillian’s jacket is hanging over his shoulders, covering him. His face is not visible.

Panel 9: Another flashback of Darrell, this time a close up of his face as he looks up, tears streaming down his face as he sobs. He’s now wearing a white sweater with a large gingham pattern across it. It’s difficult to see his surroundings, but he seems to be sitting in grass with something dark and barely visible in his lap.

Panel 10: In the present, Jillian sits in the morning light streaming through the windows, her face in her hands. Quietly she says to herself: “...it was different.”