Four years ago, I accidentally faked my own death.

Has anyone ever told you that you drink like a fish that has just discovered water?” Garcia asks. The tension in the room dissipates through the laughter.“Never with quite such accuracy.

Izzy is dead, I don’t care what the papers say. The woman I once was can never be resurrected.

Could you bring me some whiskey and a body bag?

Fear is like oil, indefinitely saturating and irreparably staining everything it touches.

You’ll never know their names. You’ll never recognize their faces as a life that you helped to save. But after tonight, you might walk the streets of Seattle and wonder whether the woman behind you in line at the coffee shop is one of them. Or maybe it will be the person at the grocery store in front of you that is trying to count exact change just to avoid using a credit card. These Nameless Women are all around us, even if they haven’t been able to change their names. I am one of them.