The morning began exactly as it always did, with the familiar blare of the alarm clock at six. I hit the snooze button, planted a quick kiss on my sleeping husband’s cheek, and shuffled to the bathroom, yawning. The mirror reflected my usual morning face: green eyes, a turned-up nose, and short, sandy hair desperately in need of styling. My figure was typical for a mother of two—complete with those stubborn extra pounds—but my husband always insisted I was beautiful. A splash of cold water finally forced my eyes open. I dragged myself into the kitchen. Without coffee, my brain simply refuses to boot up—I know my limits too well. I filled the kettle and switched it on, then clicked the TV remote, flipping to a music channel. The sound of running water echoed from the bathroom—my husband was already in the shower. I couldn't help but smile. I set a small pot of water on the stove, turned the burner up to max, and tossed in a pinch of salt, a dash of sugar, and a sliver of butter. Fetching some frozen raspberries, I dropped them into the pot. While waiting for the water to boil, I measured out a cup of oats. The moment it bubbled, I poured the rolled oats in a thin layer so the boil wouldn't die down, then lowered the heat and set a timer for five minutes. Four mugs sat on the counter: two for coffee, two for cocoa. The kettle whistled. Yes, sweet caffeine! Right on cue, the alarm went off a second time... While the oatmeal simmered, I sliced some bread and pulled out the cheese. My husband walked in, smelling clean and fresh from the shower. "Smells delicious," he said with a smile, kissing me. "You take it from here, everything's ready," I replied, rushing off to the kids' room. I grabbed the alarm clock and set it out in the hallway. Heading into their room, I saw my boys starting to stir, though their eyes were still tightly shut. The music from the kitchen drifted in. I kept the volume down—no need to wake the neighbors when it was plenty loud for us. My youngest opened a single, sleepy eye. I smiled, reached out, scooped him up from the bed, and kissed his forehead. Seven years old already, but still not too cool for morning cuddles. "Vanya, go get ready! Dad will help if you need it. As for your brother, I'm going to go tackle that sleepyhead!" I sat on the edge of my oldest boy's bed and ruffled his sandy hair. He brushed my hand away and pulled the blanket over his head. Little rebel. By the time I got back to the kitchen, my husband had already poured the coffee and dished out the oatmeal. The boys took their seats. I took a sip of my coffee—with every gulp, the morning fog in my head cleared. Finally awake! I rinsed my mug and kissed the boys goodbye. I hit the remote starter for the car. It was deep autumn, and there was a reason our town was officially classified as part of the Far North; overnight frosts were a brutal reality here. A loud cock-a-doodle-doo rang out from my phone timer—less than twenty minutes before we had to leave. Makeup. Clothes. Purse. Ouch! In my rush, I smashed my knee right into the ottoman. That hurt... I quickly finished my makeup. The reflection in the mirror was no longer an exhausted zombie, but a polished, on-the-go mom. "Mom, will you be home late?" "I don't know, sweetheart. I hope not." "We wanted to go to the park!" the youngest chimed in. "Can we?" "We'll see. If everything goes well, we'll go." "Time to roll! Last one out is a rotten egg!" "Same old story," my husband said, shaking his head. "Barely awake and already racing out the door." "That’s life," I said, giving him a quick kiss. "Time to conquer the world!" My office was in the next town over, a sixty-kilometer drive, forty of which were on the open highway. I hummed along to the songs on the radio. The car was warm and cozy. Navigating my way out of the city, I hit a minor bottleneck at the final traffic light. My turn came up. The clock read exactly 7:20. After checking that the intersection was clear, I pressed on the gas. I cleared the roundabout, passed the local Alyosha landmark statue, rolled past the traffic police checkpoint, and hit the open road. Suddenly, a frantic blare of a horn and the sickening screech of metal forced my eyes to the rearview mirror. A heavily loaded semi-truck had clearly carried too much speed down the main road, trying desperately to brake. But the overnight frost played a cruel trick on all of us. To make matters worse, a sudden, blinding shot of pain flared in my knee—the exact one I’d smashed earlier—keeping me from slamming my foot to the floor. The thin sheet of black ice left the gray-haired driver completely helpless against the crushing weight of his own rig. His trailer jackknifed, shoving the massive cab straight toward my compact car. A scream tore from my throat. His headlights blinded me through the mirrors. I stomped on the gas, but the icy road refused to let the tires grip. Impact! The sound of tearing metal! Darkness... ...The alarm. Six o'clock. My fingers instinctively reached out for the snooze button... I bolted upright in bed. My heart was hammering against my ribs, and I was shaking like a leaf. It was just a dream. My husband was sleeping peacefully beside me. Total silence came from the kids' room, yet I couldn't shake the vivid image of those blinding headlights and the terror in the eyes of that gray-haired truck driver. "You okay?" my husband mumbled sleepily. "Just a bad dream. A really bad one... Go back to sleep, you've still got five minutes." I looked into the bathroom mirror. It was my face, but I was completely wide awake. Was I given a second chance? The kettle, the pot, the raspberries, the oatmeal, the four mugs—everything played out exactly the same. Then, the alarm went off again... A jolt of pure adrenaline shot through me: everything in this dream morning was identical. And at 7:20... My husband walked in, fresh from the shower. "Smells delicious," he said with a smile. My heart ached at the exact repetition of his words. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him just a little bit tighter than usual. "Boys, rise and shine! Vanya, go wash up!" The youngest bounced out of bed, while the oldest tried to bury himself deeper under his pillow. "Not today, sweetheart," I said firmly. He sat up, groggy and annoyed, looking exactly as he had in my dream. I gave him a quick, playful swat to get him moving, then hurried back to my room. I threw on my clothes, did my makeup, and checked the time. I was running five minutes ahead of schedule. "Mom, will you be home late?" the oldest asked, repeating the exact question. "I hope not, sweetheart," I replied. "We wanted to go to the park!" the youngest added. In the dream, I had said "We'll see," and we never went... We never got to go anywhere again. "We are absolutely going," I told them. The cock-a-doodle-doo timer went off. I deliberately gave the ottoman a wide berth. I remembered vividly how hitting it in the dream had slowed me down, ruined my focus, and messed up my reaction time on the road. No time to overthink. I had to move faster. My husband shook his head. "Same old story. Barely awake and already racing out the door." "That’s life," I said, gripping his shoulder tightly. "Time to conquer the world." He gave me a puzzled look, but smiled anyway. We left the house. The dashboard clock read 7:15—five minutes earlier than in the dream. The car was warm, the radio hummed in the background. The final traffic light was backed up again, but our turn came quickly. It was 7:18. Not 7:20. 7:18. I pulled out. The roundabout, the statue, the police checkpoint. Freedom. I glanced in the mirror and saw the semi-truck—the exact same one. The gray-haired man was already jamming on his brakes by the time I cleared the intersection. The ice gleamed on the asphalt as his rig began to slide. The car that had pulled out behind me honked wildly and skidded to a halt as another hurried driver tapped their bumper. The truck's trailer swung out, missing them by a hair... But I was already far away. A difference of two minutes. Just two minutes between myself and the darkness. The end