‘Epilogue’ i. As I stepped into my new life, I settled into a routine: work; come home and work on revising whatever I’d just finished; make dinner and wash up; then work on something new in writing. Every now and again I would catch up with friends. It wasn’t much, but it was more than I’d ever had. One night I had just made dinner when a friend I’d studied with messaged me that a mutual friend had taken his own life – a young guy, in his mid-twenties, smart, witty, handsome, and talented. He’d even written a novel, which he had told me in the past he was slowly…