I started to shake. I couldn’t feel my hands. I couldn’t hear what anyone was saying. My breathing became erratic, and my hands got so sweaty that I had a hard time pulling out my phone to try and check social media for news.

As soon as our debrief ended, I ran down to the hospitality area to see my parents and girlfriend because I knew they’d have more information. I remember coming down the stairs and seeing them all just sobbing. I could see they were broken. And I understood what it meant. I knew my friend was gone.

I wasn’t prepared for that. Honestly, I had let my mind wander — to think that maybe Anthoine was in a coma or something like that. But death? Death? I never thought that was possible. You know, when Jules Bianchi was killed in a crash in 2015 ... it was the first time in a long time that someone from our generation of racers, at any level, had died. It happened a lot 40 or 50 years ago, but now? No. No.

I was completely broken. I cried until I couldn’t cry anymore. I’ve never experienced a worse feeling than that in my life. Never.

That night, when I closed my eyes to go to sleep, I thought of my friend.