Losing my parents changed everything, but it wasn’t until the will was read that I realized just how alone I really was.

I always thought grief would come crashing in like a wave — loud, violent, all at once. But for me, it trickled in. A voicemail from a stranger. A sterile hospital waiting room. Two cops who wouldn’t meet my eyes.

My name’s Rachel. I’m 19, and last fall, my world fell apart when my parents died in a car crash. One minute they were on their way to dinner; the next, I was standing in a cold hallway at 3 a.m., clutching a paper cup of vending machine coffee, wishing I could hit rewind.

After the funeral, the house was too quiet. I kept expecting to hear Mom humming in the kitchen or Dad calling from the garage. I barely left my room except to feed the cat and microwave frozen meals. Grief has a way of shrinking the world.