A little more than a year ago she’d had a thriving practice in Clearwater, Florida. With an income climbing well into the six-figure range she enjoyed her lifestyle as one of the “up and coming” professionals in her area. Four years at college, four more years in dental school, then ten years in practice had got her to the point where, for the first time in her life, she didn’t have to worry about money, her future, her confidence.

It only took thirty seconds to end it all.

She often replayed those last seconds in her mind, searching for something that could have been done differently. But nothing could have turned this twist of fate in her favor. There was no way that she could have ignored Mr. Tate’s injury. He was her patient, for God’s sake. And there was no way anyone could have predicted what he’d do to her, especially with the cops right outside the examining room door.

Three surgeries and six months of physical therapy had helped restore most of the mobility to her left hand. For all outward appearances there was nothing wrong with her, except for the ugly scar that ran down her thumb and partially across her palm. She was not disabled. She could work, at least that’s what the doctors said, which led to the decision of the disability insurance people to deny her any benefits.

It was when it came down to the fine, intricate, detailed work demanded in dentistry that she couldn’t perform. Val had to face the fact that being a dentist wasn’t an option anymore. With her life falling apart all she wanted to do was go home, to Buffalo, hoping to find salvation in the comforting feeling of familiarity, of life before dentistry, before success. Of promise.

She had found a career once. She could do it again. Couldn’t she?

Rounding the corner in front of the Erie County Medical Center, Val pulled into the parking lot. She checked the clock on the dash. As anticipated, the drive didn’t take that long. Now what to do? She was early. But early is a sign of a good employee. Val opened the car door and stepped outside.

It was unseasonably warm for the middle of April, the temperature cracking seventy degrees already. As Val walked towards the building, beads of perspiration formed on her forehead, the heat adding to the effect of stress, which had already caused her to feel as if she had soaked through her blouse. Pulling the clingy material away from her body, Val worried about her choice of dress. Agonizing over every detail, second guessing herself—Jesus, she couldn’t help it.