It fell down on me from the sky; it enveloped me like the snow. The gun in my brain that blasted away everything I loved, everything I cared about, everything that had any meaning, made a slow, inexorable turn, until its smoking black barrel was pointed at my face. I felt completely and utterly empty, a shell, with nothing to live for, no happiness, no joy. I’d added nothing to this world with my existence. Drop Rebecca Colder in the lake, and her body would sink with no ripples.

There was no question in my mind about what I should do. I was going to end it. That was my plan; that was all I could think about. The only thing I wasn’t sure about was where to go. Where to walk in those final moments. Where to draw my gun and place it in my mouth. I wondered what last image my eyes should have, before the whiteness of the snow became the blackness and nothingness of death.

I drove along the snowy highway, studying each crossroad and wondering which one had a sign that read: This way, Rebecca. Half a dozen times, I stopped, contemplating whether to turn the wheel. If you’re planning to kill yourself, one place really is as good as any other. But each time, I kept going. I guess life takes you where you’re supposed to be, for better or worse.

It was an owl that saved me.

An owl is why you’re here in this world, sweetheart.

I squinted through the slush on my windshield, and suddenly, there it was, face in front of me, wings spread like Jesus on the cross. The car hit the owl, or the owl hit the car, and then it was gone, rising in the air, going up and down drunkenly as if it was struggling to soar. I screeched to a stop on the shoulder and bolted from the car, scanning the woods for the bird. The owl had vanished, but its cry called to me, guided me. I ran toward the sound and found a break in the trees, near the entrance road to a national forest campground that was closed for the season.

Somewhere down there, the owl beckoned me with its call.

This way, Rebecca.