The old floorboards creaked beneath Mira's feet as she paced, a single protruding nail glinting in the dim light. That nail had caused her downfall – a broken wrist and three days trapped alone. Her daily calls to her sister had ceased, and soon worry would set in. But would anyone search this far out in the countryside?

Her gaze returned to the nail, rusty and thick. An idea sparked. In the kitchen junk drawer, she found heavy-duty pliers. Gripping the nail's base, she yanked with a surge of adrenaline. It screeched but held firm. Again she pulled, tears stinging her eyes.

One final, desperate yank. The nail ripped free with a gunshot crack.

Limping to the living room window, she tapped the nail against the glass. Tap, tap, tap. Her wrist throbbed in agony, but finally, a tiny crack appeared. She kept tapping until the glass shattered, then worked the nail around the edges to create a sliver of an opening.

Cool evening air hit her face as she forced the window open enough to squeeze through. Landing on the ground, she felt a rush of relief. She had no way of knowing if she'd be found, but it was better than waiting for a rescue that might never come. Clutching the rusty nail, she began to walk. Her break was over – there was nowhere to go but forward.