There were a number of things that could have gone wrong. She could have misplaced her car keys, for example. Her keys or wallet, slipped away in the wrong pocket. She could have been saddled with more end-of-day projects by her passive-aggressive office manager. She could have torn through the yellow light, sideswiped, the city bus into her lane. She could have managed to forget to pick up her dry cleaning, the little black dress, that dress that gives her the confidence she thinks she lacks. She could have hit traffic along the Queensway through rush-hour, the stretch from the off-ramp to her little side street. She could have hit construction slowdowns by the University. She could have run over the neighbour boy, his tricycle riding her driveway. She could have slipped on her front step, skull cracked on concrete. She could have run out of hot water for her shower, caught her last pair of nylons on errant toenail. She could have fallen straight through her front window, her body breaking along with bay glass, tripping over her vacuum cleaner. She could have been unable to find a parking space, run out of gas, been killed through a mugging. She could have ended up in the wrong restaurant, somewhere clear across town. She could have choked on the breath mint. She could have not recognized him at the bar. He could have left upon seeing her, first. He could not have walked over.