It's not a habitual action. I rarely check. This time, this one time out of a thousand times, I checked. I don't know. The night is dark, the rain light, the minutes slow.
People pass by, look at the car, ask what happened.
I hit a deer, I say to them. My knees shake. My daughter is out of the car, walking on the curb of the sidewalk, walking as if she is on a tightrope, one foot placed carefully in front of the other, arms out for balance. Relief hits with a force that jolts my heart. Don't think about it, I tell myself, don't think about what might have happened.