Wine. Specifically, white. She hated white wine. She wanted red. The buzzing warm feeling was building. Building the way it had when she'd been inside the LHC doing maintenance. No one knew she'd been there. No one could explain how she'd survived. Then in a blink, she hadn't been. That was when she realised something Quantum had happened.

She perceived a reality where the waiter had gotten the wrong bottle from the shelf, picking red instead of the sought for white. He'd lose his job later that day for continued disobedience. His wife would commit suicide in four months, when the expensive IVF treatments stopped without his wage. It might have done with it.

On his way home from the funeral, three people would be killed by his car. All for a glass of red wine. All because she could see many futures. If only she chose.

She looked again. The white wine would signify nothing. No ground breaking changes. She saw herself walking up and pouring a glass. A glass. A glass of wine. Wine. Specifically, white. She hated white wine. She wanted red.

Didn't she deserve it? No one noticed or felt a thing. She poured the red wine. She liked red wine. A Merlot.

Scrummy!