She looked past her laptop’s screen and through the old multi-light window with white paint
peeling off its muntins to the rose garden in full bloom in the bright morning sun. At any other
time, her heart would have been gladdened by the flowers’ vibrant beauty, but this time she
hardly noticed. Nothing would distract or assuage. She slumped over her desk, holding her face
in her hands. Her head felt like it could explode. The same thoughts that had darted around in her
mind and intruded on each other all fitful, sleepless night long were still going strong. Why did I
go straight home from work last night instead of making my usual stop at the cleaners and the
convenience store? Yes, it was raining heavily and there was a lot of traffic, and it had been a
long day, but how hard would it have been to make that stop? It was impatience, that’s all. I was
impatient to be in a warm house with a satisfying dinner–maybe even a romantic dinner, relaxed
conversation, something to read or watch. … I would give anything to go back and re-do last
night! Or at least I wish there were something that could wipe out the knowing. For a moment,
she had an impulse to hurl her laptop through the window into the rose bushes, but she thought
the better and gently nudged it forward enough to make space to lay her head down on the desk.
She stayed that way for a long time, her mind looping round and round on dreams that could
have come true, until she finally dozed.

When she awoke, it took a few seconds before she remembered. Oh yeah, that’s right.
Coming home sooner the previous night had brought this aching reality, and the question
emerged of how to cope and move on. Has anyone else ever been in this situation? I’ve never
heard of anyone. I certainly don’t know anyone. It’s not like there’s a support group for this kind
of thing. Lifting her head, she again saw the computer screen still displaying the email alert with
the winning numbers, the exact same numbers that she’d always played most weeks for years–
but not this week. The prize was over one hundred million dollars. It would have opened a long
and wide path to dreams of hers and dreams of others. So much good could have been done.

She took one last look at the email, then clicked the trash can, closed the laptop, slowly got
up from her desk, and walked to the back door and out into the garden. After breathing in the
crisp, clean morning air for a while, she began letting the sunshine penetrate her thoughts. And
she recalled a wise person once telling her that there are many good paths and sometimes
unexpected gifts in unrealized dreams. Wisdom that wasn’t easy to bring into clear focus
right now. But the perfect pink and scarlet and canary-yellow roses touched her in a way that
almost surprised her. She put her nose to one of the yellow blossoms with its divinely sweet
scent, and she sensed that the roses had to do with the path forward.