Even as the shattered glass rushed towards her, even as her every pore and every opening filled with the acridness of burning rubber, she had time to pray. “Oh God, oh God, no, not now. Please, not like this, please, just this once, just this once. I promise, I won’t ask again. Oh, God.”

And then she had to blink because it was so white and bright. She looked down. She must have been standing on something but as she lifted her eyes, there were no lines to follow — no perspective, no shadows.

“Hello, again.”

She regarded him and replied. “Hello.”

“Are you sure this is what you want? It would be the last time.”

Suddenly, she remembered that fourteen years ago, she had failed the entrance exam to medical school. A drunken one-night stand five years ago had destroyed her marriage. The bitterness, the guilt, the desperation were as real as the operation she performed this morning and last night’s eleventh anniversary dinner with Michael.

“I’ve… I’ve asked before.”

“Everyone does. Everyone has three chances.”

“This is my last one.”

“Is it worth it?”

Her mind still echoed with the enormity of screeching and shattering.

“Yes. Take it back.”

She glanced up at the mirror, flicked the indicator and turned left.