There are moments in life that refuse to fade, not because they were dramatic or heroic, but because something about them felt… guided.

Years ago, I was living at Gull Lake. Winter had settled fully over the prairie, the kind of cold that sharpens sound and turns every breath into visible proof that you are alive. Morning routines were simple then. Start the car. Head to work. Another ordinary day beginning like countless others.

Except that morning didn’t get very far.

I had barely reached the end of the main drag when the tire went flat.

There’s a particular sinking feeling that comes with that dull, unmistakable wobble. I pulled over, stepped out into the cold, and opened the rear hatch to retrieve the spare.

Only it wouldn’t open.

I trie...

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