As the rental car rolled to a stop on the dark road, her fear increased by the moment. She was late. The writing competition deadline was midnight, and she still wasn’t sure her submission was good enough. She had come out here to clear her head. That’s what writers do in movies. Instead, she got lost. She stared at the dark trees around her and sighed. Maybe this was a sign. She pulled out her laptop anyway. The battery was low. Of course it was. She reread her story one last time. It felt predictable. Too safe. Like she hadn’t really said anything new. She almost deleted it. Then she thought about all the hours she had spent on it. The drafts. The edits. The doubt. She hit submit. The screen froze for a second and she panicked. Then the confirmation email arrived. She leaned back in the seat and let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Across town, another writer sat staring at his inbox. He had already submitted days ago. He was confident. Maybe too confident. When he saw her name pop up in the list of finalists later that week, he frowned. He remembered how she used to ask him for advice. He remembered telling her she wasn’t ready. And that was the moment he finally understood what it had cost him.