The chilly November morning filtered through the sky a refreshing scent of fallen dew and brisk temperatures. The obvious season change had made the leaves swish along the street and spawn that delightful crunch beneath the feet of those who walked along the bustling sidewalks of New York. It was the time of year where the days were shorter and breath filtered out into the air like steam from a sauna. As these autumn jewels ripened outside – inside Caribe Incorporated, business was as usual.

Brett, a dedicated businessman in his early thirties obediently sat at his desk. He was unsuccessfully attempting to drown out the background noise so that he could fully concentrate on his proposal. His cubicle, surrounded by the sounds of rustling papers, persistent fingers tapping away on computer keys and incessantly ringing telephones, was inconveniently located in the middle of the huge central office. He scratched underneath his sandy blonde hair and closed his gold-flecked green eyes to gather his thoughts.

“Ahem.”

Startled, Brett opened his eyes to see a police officer towering over him.

“Sorry to just barge in here like this, but the secretary insisted,” the officer was in a pressed uniform of deep blue with a brightly polished badge.

“Oh, that’s all right. I think I was beginning to doze off so you actually did me a favor.” Brett gradually stood to shake the officer’s hand. “What can I do for you officer?”

“You may want to sit down Mr. Tatum. I’m Officer Nichols with the N.Y.P.D. and I’m afraid I have some bad news,” his monotone voice was hanging thick in the air like silver clouds before a summer storm. “Your wife was in a bad car accident this morning on her way to work.”

Suddenly Brett felt a lump in his throat. “Is…is she all right?” he asked, terrified of the answer.

“Well, the accident was pretty bad. There were four vehicles involved and several people were injured.”

Brett leapt from his chair so wildly that it rolled across the floor. “Sarah’s hurt? How badly is she hurt?”

“That is what I am trying to tell you Mr. Tatum, your wife had some internal injuries and the paramedics did all for here that they could while on the scene; but she didn’t make it,” the officer’s eyes lowered in sympathy.

Brett, unable to speak, held back his tears. He struggled to sit but his legs refused to bend; he tried to breathe but he was momentarily paralyzed. He felt as though he, himself had just been hit by a car.