Xavier never realised how entwined love and loss were.
At 48, he’d been married to Sylvie for 12 years.

Sylvie could run the world while juggling pasta, blindfolded, in stilettos.
They had one child, Bastian.
He was 8 and already in love with little Mathilde, next door.

Husband, father, architect; that was his profile.

It was Sylvie’s birthday in one week.
Mathilde’s mother was going to babysit Bastian.
Xavier was taking his wife to Le Dôme.

Sylvie would have loved it if had the car stopped in time, last night.

He lost his wife and a word from his profile.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly