A Time I Had to Choose
A Collaboration - Fragments from the Fork in the Road
Please join us for a KTHT 14 writer personal story collaboration…
Every tale here captures a turning point: a choice made, a path taken, a truth faced. In just 200 words, each writer shares the essence of a moment when they had to decide—and live with what came next.
Only One Strike -
He did it only once, and that was one time too many...
An icy fear takes hold of me as I walk back into the bedroom. Has he really just hit my child? Slapped her face? Who is this man I’m married to? Is he finally turning into his abusive father?
Stiffly, with my back turned to him, I get back into bed and pull the covers over me. I cringe when he laughs about some comedy on television, and breathe a sigh of relief when he finally turns off the light.
I yearn to go to my daughter, to hold her, to comfort her, but I’m scared for her safety. I’ve seen his anger, his jealousy towards her; seen how he takes it out on her. He’s even threatened to do the same to our baby.
The next day, I left and immediately filed for divorce, which came through two months later. I testified against him in the court case following the abuse, where he stood smugly, doing his own defense.
I was 22-years-old; a divorced mom with two kids. That choice I made — to leave with the kids — showed me I'm a lioness, fiercely protective of my kids, and that I possessed more inner strength than I gave myself credit for.
© Marie A. Rebelle 2025
My Greatest Decision -
My biggest regret led to my greatest decision
There was no debating. I was sick.
Yet, the thought of losing my child for a few months created a pit in my heart. How could I allow myself to fall this far? Look at me. I jumped off my balcony. How could I consider myself a mother?
I knew my child would be safe in the hands of his father, but to let go when I’ve been the sole provider for most of his young life was a difficult decision.
Long days and lonely hours, I felt empty without my son. I lost my sense of purpose. I needed to get it back. I went to the hospital for five days to get my mental health straight.
You would think that would be all it would have taken to open my eyes. But, years later I would still find myself blinded.
Today, I am proud to have my son beside me. He could have been forever in the custody of his father. Yet, I chose to get help when the world was crashing around me.
My biggest regret led to my greatest decision.
© Shay Brené 2025
Main Character vs. Final Girl -
Some trauma in you always needed competition with me; but you always competed alone.
My disengagement infuriated you. You couldn’t help but dig into my writing without permission; looking for anything to humiliate me, make me apologize, make me your villain.
Unfortunately, all you found was my first assault, which you gleefully read aloud to the one person I begged you not to.
He didn’t deserve to bear that guilt; just like he doesn’t for telling me what you did. You took that choice from both of us.
I kept quiet. Kept the peace. Kept you safely surface-level.
Rather than take accountability, however, you’ve spent months smearing me, trying to recast yourself as victim. Ripping my autonomy away again, then twisting the narrative to manipulate my loved ones into abandoning me.
Unfortunately for you, I’ve been gaslit before. I’ve also kept highly-detailed notes all along this hellish journey.
“Don’t engage.” “Grey rock.” Been here before: in this case, not engaging will turn the tide for me. My loved ones know who I am, I just need to give it time.
But damn, when I hear you’re still spreading lies to my friends? My finger twitches closer to publish.
© Veronica Wren 2025
When I Chose To Change Course -
How a little detail completely changed my globe-trotting plans
My mind was cloudy, so I did what I always do in such situations: watch Dragon Ball. But much like the Super Saiyan 3 transformation, it wasn’t enough. My entire body was trembling. Was it fear? Fear of what? This is the solution to moving to another country, and it only requires a change in business structure. Why am I afraid to take it?
So I went to bed, but couldn’t sleep. The feeling of dread was growing, inch by inch. I turned to the left, I turned to the right, but with no success. So I stood up. And then it hit me. Everything we had been working on so far was built on the foundation that the business would be me and my wife’s and no one else’s.
That’s when the dread left me alone, like a ghost leaves a possessed body. I wanted to tell my wife, but I didn’t want to disturb her sleep. So, I decided to leave a message on her phone so she could see it when she woke up.
I picked up the phone. The time? 0:00. Changing course was the correct decision, without a doubt.
© Andrew Milner 2025
Set Myself Free From My Past -
I burned precious letters filled with memories of the past
Nine years ago, while I was sorting out things to make space for my upcoming second daughter, I came across large files of letters that I wrote to and received from friends during my early adulthood of extreme instability. Words on those previously snow-white, then brownish-yellow papers that were resisting aging brought me sorrow and pain.
I used to be a prolific correspondent. Those thick piles of pages were part of my life. They were precious materials for my memoir one day.
Except that day never came.
Whenever I glanced accidentally at the letters when searching for documents in the past, my heart would wrench.
Then, on that momentous day, I decided to burn them.
Sitting in front of the tin can with papers on fire and seeing words disappear in flames, I had no tears. No sighs. No lamentation.
Gone were the tough years of trying to survive in New York alone.
Gone were some of the mean acts of an ex-boyfriend.
Gone was the struggle of working while attending school.
I thought I would miss my letters. But no.
No regrets.
Sometimes, emotional liberation is worth more than painstakingly written words.
© Chingmay Anaïs Jo 2025
The Edge of Mischief -
A time I had to choose
The three of us were walking back towards the car, laughter fading behind us. Mid-conversation, she turned and said, “I like to be mischievous” with a silver glint in her eye, long enough to make eye contact.
I didn’t know what to make of this, so I politely smiled. But the words hung in the air like incense — sweet, suggestive, and lingering. Was this a playful throwaway comment, or yet another double entendre designed to knock on boundary doors?
We had talked about everything — poetry, politics, big life questions, and I had even met her boyfriend. But the energy of the night felt different.
This declaration was like a soft missile aimed at its target — my ears, whose outer rims had begun to feel warm at the sound of her melody. The desire to be seen, to be free and navigate our friendship in the way our conversations hinted at a connection began to sound louder than reason.
But at what cost? Was twenty-plus years of marriage worth risking because of shared interests and the receipt of a bit of flattery and attention? Hell no, so I decided to cut ties and forge my own path.
© Jesse Wilson 2025
Choice is not always linear for some -
A time I had to choose my word count
I stand there with too many questions, none of which I even try to utter; they only make sense to me.
I feel my mind reach out and grab the black and white.
I feel the tearing and mixing as they happen, a cascading onslaught of greyscale abstract answers pours forth with the force of a tornado.
Every color, every line, and every custom signature I use begins crafting and recrafting itself over and over. Answer after answer, probability after probability, cross-posting amongst themselves.
No one is above the other; they are all fighting to be chosen, like toddlers with bullhorns in a candy store full of glass containers.
The sound is deafening.
I close my eyes tight, my scalp begins to ache, and I tilt my head forward, hoping to push the sounds out through the invisible tube attached to my forehead.
Ah yes! There it is finally; my choice became known.
My abstract answer was tucked skittishly away in the corner.
I venture out and tiptoe towards it because I know what neurodiversity can do to me, how one prompt can bring out torment but also bring out glorious challenges.
© Jane Isley 2025
I Chose Peace -
Resentment and revenge do not promote peace
When I worked as an operating room nurse in a Fort Lauderdale Hospital, I came across many types of knowledge and skill levels, as well as different flavors of bullying and racism.
Yet nothing had prepared me for Judy, a racist lesbian bully nurse.
“Go back to where you came from.”
“Jews do not feel any pain.”
The management disregarded the staff's complaints about Judy, a relative of one of the surgeons. She always played the victim. "They make things up because I'm gay."
Once, at the end of my shift, Judy cornered me in an equipment room. With her arm around my shoulder, she said, "Bitch, your work is done here, maybe we can get together."
I started shaking. Forcefully pushing her away, I left the room. My heart raced, but seeing an orderly nearby gave me courage so I screamed out loud, “Did you call me a bitch?”
She denied all allegations. The next day, I filed a complaint with HR. Per my request, Judy was not terminated; instead, she was enrolled in a sensitivity workshop and had to offer a written apology to OR staff.
Revenge and resentment do not promote peace; our actions do!
© Sue Banerji 2025
This One -
“You don’t have to have it, you know.”
The ER nurse rubs my back and I groan. I’m so hungry but I can’t eat, not when everything comes back up.
“You’re too young. You have your whole life ahead of you. Get married first, then have babies. You’ll forget all about this one.”
She offers me a small paper cup of tap water and I shake my head. My unwashed hair hangs over my eyes, and I think of the nights only months ago when I went to bars with friends, my hair curled high, sprayed stiff into flattering wings beside my rouged cheeks.
“I can call the doctor back and schedule it. Since you’re so far along, you’ll need to stay overnight up on the obgyn floor. It’s like a real surgery.”
Before she turns away, I grab the corner of her white skirt, the fabric rough between my fingers.
“No,” I rasp. “I just need to rest.”
I’ve been on an IV for twenty minutes now, and the cool solution running through my body eases my nausea. Just a little more and I’ll be okay for another week or so. I can hold out, I know I can.
© Maisie Archer 2025
Labyrinth -
Time can collapse, too
After death-marching my children off to Sunday school, I collapsed on a bench near the church. A priest passing by asked how I was doing. “It’d be easier to be an atheist,” I retorted.
Father O’Pray – his real name! – shot me a wry grin and skedaddled.
Instantly, I converted to atheism. It was a lonely belief system, but it beat being lost in disappointment, dismay, and no definitive answer to an eternal question. Why do bad things happen to good people?
Why do the innocent suffer? Why does suffering exist, period?
Fifteen years later, before the advent of GPS, I found myself in a maze of wrong turns late at night in a gang-riddled neighborhood. “Please,” I cried out after a harrowing half hour. “Help me out of here.”
Two turns later, seas of befuddlement parted, revealing an onramp I recognized. Streetlights, pearly gates leading to the promised land – home.
Again, in one instant, I converted—albeit my Gospel according to Woo rather than Who appalled Father O’Pray. There are no atheists in foxholes or starless labyrinths.
I still don’t know why bad things happen to good people. But I trust the Divine does.
© Jenine Baines 2025
No More Spilled Milk -
A lesson on love
The morning already had me in ruins—late again, rushing to get out the door, juggling too much with two few hands. I felt like I was unraveling like cheap thread.
Then, the sound of glass.
Sharp, splintering, sudden.
I froze.
Something inside me twisted tight, a reaction already sliding off my tongue. My stomach clenched, my fists did too.
I turned and I saw him.
My son.
Wide eyes. Lips trembling. Not sure what I’d do. Not sure who I’d be. Waiting to see if I would become someone I swore I never would.
I knew that look. Knew how it carves into your spine and burns inside your soul for years. I remembered my childhood kitchen. The yelling, the hands, the punishment for childhood accidents.
I remembered what it felt like to be small and scared and unsure of your worth because of broken dishes and broken people. I remembered fear.
I took a breath.
Then one more.
“Don’t cry over spilled milk,” echoed softly in my head.
So, I hugged my son. I cleaned up the glass—and made a choice: I would never again see that look of fear.
I would remember it enough for both of us.
© Amber Kaine 2025
The Pause Between Heartbeats -
Some choices aren't loud, they echo in silence.
“Maybe next year,” I told myself, closing the laptop on yet another job offer. I adjusted the dupatta that never felt mine, smiled at the clock, and waited for him to come home.
He was late. Again.
“We’ll do everything together,” he had promised. “You won’t feel alone.”
I wanted to believe him. So, I traded ambition for compromise, meetings for mealtime prep, dreams for decency.
His parents filled the house with suggestions. What to wear. How to sit. When to speak. I became background music in a house I was supposed to call home.
I’d whisper affirmations in the bathroom mirror just to hear my own voice.
One day, my daughter looked up and asked, “Mama, why don’t you smile like before?”
I didn’t have an answer.
I zipped the bag slowly. My heart thudded as I reached for the door. And then — his hand on mine. Not forceful, but trembling.
“I didn’t know I was losing you,” he said. His eyes held guilt. And something else — awareness.
I’ve learned that loving someone deeply should never mean losing yourself quietly.
You can bend in love, but you must never break.
The most courageous act is choosing yourself — and still choosing to love.
© Taqaddus Qamar 2025
I Chose Silence -
Prioritised peace over noice
I’ve been an extrovert since childhood. A bubbly, talkative person who loved being surrounded by people. But somewhere along the journey of personal development, that talkative side of me began to fade in public.
It was because as I grew, my need shifted from being desperate to talk to people to being content with my own company.
I began to love solitude, because it gave me clarity, it helped me become a better solution maker. The constant noise of the outside world no longer excited me the way it once did. I realized that silence wasn’t emptiness rather, it was full of answers, full of healing. Because in silence, I found something deeper, I found Myself.
Today, I no longer feel the need to fill every gap in a conversation. I no longer seek validation from people. I’ve learned that my own presence can be enough.
I chose silence over chaos
© Ameena 2025
Should I Stay or Should I Go? -
Eleven years ago I made a choice that completely changed me and my life
I told myself security was enough. I was fine. Deep down, I was lying.
There was another world waiting that burned hotter and pulled harder. A man who felt equally like home and chaos. The one I’d tried to forget, but never could.
I wanted him, like a pull in my chest, an ache in the pit of my gut. The kind of want that made life dull without him in it.
But I was scared. My home was safe and predictable. Leaving meant stepping into the unknown, losing comfort, stability and security.
Then, listening to a clairvoyant I hadn’t planned to see, I heard the words that knocked down my walls.
“You have a choice ahead. Stay, or choose him. Decide soon, or the other path will be lost to you forever.”
It shook me. I’d spent so long convincing myself I was trapped. That staying was for the best. But it wasn’t. Never had been.
So I left and lost nearly everything I owned in the process — except myself.
And sometimes late at night, I think about how easily I could’ve chosen to stay. How different my life would be. And how much of myself I’d never have actualised.
© May More 2025
Some extremely fantastic tales in this collection. Well done to all the writers!
I am so proud of every one of these stories - a wonderful collaboration. thank you all for getting involved and managing to tell a story in less than 200 words