The rain spatters against her windshield, and she turns the wipers up one more notch. Water falls in sheets, driven by gravity.

Cars whiz by, hurling more heavenly fluid at her vehicle, and her tires struggle to keep up.

She thinks about their argument, and how it hurt her but she hadn’t shown it. She is still a little prideful of that. And once her phone rings, a small monotonic chime that signals an incoming message.

She sighs and turns down the radio playing nothing but soft, sad songs and reaches down into her purse. Her hands grope for control of the wheel, and she misses a collision just barely.

Catching her breath a little, she flips the phone open and reads the short text message. From him, an apology. He doesn’t have to.

She quickly stumbles with the keys, glancing down briefly to type in a sentence. “…its…not…” – look up – “ur…fault.” She presses the send button and looks up once more.

And she is in the left lane with headlights not a foot away.