Meg removed the magazine from the black handle of her GLOCK 27. Pulling back the slide ejected the one hollow point round from the chamber. She placed the one round with the fully loaded magazine in the wooden box before securely locking them and the weapon in her closet. The .40-caliber was not something any woman would choose for a personal protection handgun. Then again, Megan Emily Swift wasn't just any woman, and she didn't take too kindly to the stereotype. At age twenty-four, she fulfilled many of her dreams. She had few regrets. The one milestone in life, which seemed to escape her, wasn't on her bucket list. She knew very well the clock was ticking and had all but given up on a sustainable, rewarding relationship. Everywhere she looked and everything she read, led to the same life fulfillment: a house, a husband, two-and-one-half kids, and living comfortably on two incomes in the suburbs of a city. Megan was not--and never had been--the typical woman. She had grown up in a non-typical household. Her mother and father had saved for years to get her into a college of her choice. They knew early on their little girl was gifted. Their hopes and dreams for their daughter came with lots of hard work, sacrifice and many prayers. They wanted for her whatever she wanted for herself. They were the best parents Megan could have dreamed of having. Being an only child meant she didn't have to compete as hard as those children in two-and-one-half-kid families. Megan did well in high school--very well. Her brains got her into the flagship University of Missouri, MU; then ultimately, Missouri University School of Law. Although they wanted her to spread her own wings and find her niche, it appeared she too, would follow in her parents' footsteps by becoming an attorney. Like any teen just out of high school, she had the world figured out. Her parents taught her to stand on her own two feet and think for herself. She was strong-willed, and it served her well. She never experienced the bullying like many kids did. It was never a question of why. She was tough--not just on the inside, but on the outside as well. She stood up for herself and for others who seemed to not find their own voice. Both of her parents were athletes, and Megan held up the family tradition. Although she could never dunk a basketball with just one hand, she could wrap fingers around the rim and box out any foe inside the paint who thought she was meager. She was a force to be reckoned with. She got her five-foot ten frame from both her parents. Her blue-hazel eyes were mesmerizing. Women envied her shoulder length, naturally curly, brunette hair. It was the blonde highlights and athletic physique that caught the eye of both men and women. It was her athletic ability that got her noticed by all those who either read the sports page of the local paper or attended one of the school's games. Her athleticism didn't capture the attention of any Ivy League scouts, as the small southwest Missouri town never seemed to warrant any prospective sport heroes. She had grown up most of her life answering to the name of "Meg". Her name, shortened by her parents, stuck through high school, college, and her post graduate pursuit in Columbia. She liked her name, and her life was on track.

Then came one, memorable, warm, spring day. While in class, her professor got a message handed to him from his administrative assistant, Shirley McPherson. Unbeknownst to Meg, that message would change her life forever. The interruption came at a time when all ears hung on every syllable uttered from the professor's lips. The class of twenty-eight students was focused. Their attendance in class hadn't been mandatory. It wasn't on this day either; however, this professor had a reputation of "tell all" when it came to what's expected on exams. Finals were fast approaching, and Meg was on track for another stellar academic year. She was already being offered an internship at a prestigious law firm. Her fall semester looked promising, with one foot in the door for what hoped to be a rewarding law career. Not that passing the bar would be easy, but she was confident in her abilities; her professors had repeatedly rewarded her with praises of future accolades.

There was a noticeable pause in the class instruction, and all eyes were on the professor. Dr. Theodore "Ted" Morris had more letters of the alphabet behind his name than many of his colleagues. His knowledge of law, coupled with his wittiness, made his courses popular with students. He had been interrupted by his assistants before, so students were used to a few minor breaks in discussions. This one was different. Dr. Morris seemed taken back. He stared at the note as if it were in a different language.

He looked up at the class and uttered the words, "Excuse me."

His monotone was almost a whisper. If it weren't for the wireless microphone pinned to his shirt collar, the class would not have heard him. He turned and left the room. A hush came over the class. This was a first. Everyone was intent on his every word. Each student was mindfully aware their success depended on how they interpreted the instructed content for the upcoming final. Being absent in class during the year wasn't a death sentence, provided each written exam was thoughtfully and thoroughly completed. After a seemingly exhaustive delay, Dr. Morris reentered the room. He was noticeably shaken. It was as if a client had failed to tell him a critical point for a successful defense, and the prosecution was aware of the omission. He glanced up, looking directly at Meg. He then appeared to scan across the tiered rows of seating as if looking for an answer to a question from a specific student. But it was obvious. He had locked eyes way too long with Meg, and the class of brilliant observant minds also caught the glare. Meg's stomach fluttered as she, too, noticed the obvious.

"Sorry for the interruption class, where were we?"

He stumbled through his notes as if he wasn't prepared. He was always prepared.

"Analytical separation from the accused client's charge," Meg quipped with a nervous stutter.

She couldn't get past the lingered glance from Dr. Morris following his return to the classroom. She was caught off guard.

Meg sat on the second-row seat, center stage as she always did. It wasn't by accident that Dr. Morris knew where Meg sat. It was as if she was supposed to have known she would have been called upon to help bring back the previous awkwardness of class interruption.

She could always be counted on to interject with an answer. Others did, as well, throughout the academic year as if it were a contest. Meg held her own, and classmates were consciously aware of how talented she was in grasping the subject matter. For her, it was like sitting home at the kitchen table bantering with her parents following a report on the evening news. There would be deep discussions of the guilt or innocence of someone arrested and charged with a serious crime.

Dr. Morris found his place, but he was off his game. He wasn't as sharp as he always seemed to be. He was no longer poised with perfection. It wasn't like him and the class was painfully aware. He glanced at the clock at the back of the room.

"Class dismissed; I'll see you all Monday."

Normally, class was held to the top of the hour, especially this close to finals. Out thirty minutes early was awarding college students to go enjoy the weekend early on a Friday. It was a Friday;...