It was difficult for Mary to admit that most of her workout consisted of exercising poor judgment. Not the gym kind. The other kind. The kind where you say yes because saying no feels like admitting you should have said it three decisions ago. She had dated men with motorcycles, men with unfinished novels, men who called themselves entrepreneurs but lived off her Wi-Fi. Each time she told herself it would be the last interesting mistake. This time it was Jake. Jake had a truck that smelled faintly of gasoline and cinnamon gum. Jake had a plan, which was already suspicious. “Just a drive,” he said. “There’s this road outside town. Nobody knows about it.” That should have been the moment Mary stayed home. Instead she grabbed a jacket. The road began as something ordinary, cracked asphalt and pale grass on either side. But the farther they drove, the quieter it became. No houses. No street signs. No radio signal. Jake laughed nervously and tapped the dashboard. “Weird,” he said. Mary checked her phone. No service. No bars. No little arrow showing where they were. “Maybe we should turn around,” she said. Jake nodded. He slowed the truck and glanced in the rearview mirror. Then he frowned. “What?” Mary asked. Jake didn’t answer. He leaned forward, squinting. Mary twisted around in her seat. Behind them was the same pale stretch of land they had been driving through for the last twenty minutes. Only now it was empty. No asphalt. No tire tracks. No sign that a road had ever cut through the grass. Jake pressed the brakes harder. “Did we pass a turn?” he asked. Mary shook her head slowly. They sat there for a moment, the engine idling, the wind brushing softly through the dry field. Finally Jake whispered, “That’s not possible.” Mary watched the place where the road should have been. And for the first time in a long while, she wondered if maybe this really would be her last bad decision. The road behind them disappeared, as if it had never been there at all.