by Judy Cabito
Circumstances would say if she had seen it in time, nothing would have changed when this morning Harold asked if she could just this once, “go to the cleaners for me.” She had a gazillion things to do not to mention eight hours of work, picking up the kids, going to a soccer game at 3, back to work until 6, two loads of laundry, and dinner. She grabbed the ticket, slammed the door behind her, as Harold followed her out to the car. “Just this once, I can't get there in time, and I have that big deal tomorrow, I need my suit,” he said as she drove off in a rage. After fifteen years of marriage, she felt used, nothing more than a walking baby vessel, a household machine, an indentured slave. If she hadn't married, if she hadn't had children, if she hadn't longed to be anywhere on the earth than there at that moment, she might have looked up to see the STOP sign, the other car approaching from the left, and if none of that had happened, she would have gone on living... but now everything changed.
Judy Cabito now lives and writes in Incline Village, Nevada. She grew up, steps from the Puget Sound, and calls herself a Westcoaster, if there is such a thing. Published in several online and print publications, she's wild about flash fiction.