Twenty-five years ago I was a student at the Université de Montreal. It was December 6, 1989, and it was a cold, frigid Montreal day. At about 4 o'clock in the afternoon, I finished my last class before the mid-year exams. Normally I'd go to the library, study and head over to the main cafeteria, the one in the Polytechnique, for a bite to eat. But I didn't go to the library, and I didn't go to the cafeteria. I decided to go straight home. I had a big assignment to submit the next day and was determined to get it done. The next morning, the news of the murders shattered my orderly world.