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Writer's pictureEmily Dixon

Breakdown

Emma waved at her husband as she reversed out of the driveway. She'd been waiting for this forever. It wasn't often jobs appeared with The National Protection Agency, and she'd managed to secure one of their elusive interviews.

 

This was her dream job - the job she'd worked her whole life in preparation for. She'd even bought a house twenty minutes away from their headquarters. Adam, her husband, joked that she was obsessed.

 

Five minutes in, the car began to make a knocking noise before the engine cut out completely.

 

"Oh bugger, not now."

 

Steering it to the side of the road safely, Emma called N.P.A and informed them apologetically that she'd be late for her interview. She was told the next slot was at half-past one, which she graciously accepted.

 

Sighing, she then called breakdown services, who promised to be there within an hour.

 

It took her fifteen minutes to walk home. As she let herself in, she could hear the TV on in the

lounge.

 

"Ad... the bloody car broke down; interviews moved to half one."


Adam appeared in the doorway, pale-faced and wide-eyed. He ran and scooped her up.

 

"A bomb went off at N.P.A. I thought you were dead."

 

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