Once driving sociably with friends on the 401 heading back to the city, I missed the moment when the cars in front of me slowed down. My foot hard on the brake in panic, I spun a hundred and eighty degrees on the icy road, facing full-on to the cars behind. I was at the end of a wave of traffic, the next wave still building behind, a slow crest approaching, far enough for me to straighten out without harm. We drove the rest of the way home quiet, chastened, stunned. Years later, I revisit these small moments of fortune, the timing that turns the story one way and not the other. The sudden shock, the slowing down, the reverberations. The newly careful tending of my life.

From my current daily writing practice with three women across the continent. Word prompt: brake