Do we always know what to wish for?
He always told me I was one of the blessed few who had the power of wishful thinking. A few blissful years after our marriage, I found out how strong.
There was a fire in our house. A simple oversight that built into an all-consuming rage of nature. My husband and I were trapped on two different floors. I was rescued first, the fire hadn’t spread to the lower floors yet. My husband was rescued from a charred floor above, just breathing, black and unrecognizable.
I had screamed. People were worrying about me for inhaling smoke when my husband was writhing in pain. I had fought away every doctor, every nurse attending to me to see him. I need to go to him. I need to be with him. There was nothing but darkness without him.
The burns looked bad, but there was hope? His face was charred but his stomach wasn’t harmed. He might make it, they said.
He has to! He WILL!!
I kept screaming. And then I had prayed.
I wished that he wouldn’t die.
And miraculously my wish came true. My power held true. He had been right.
He will live, they said.
I had laid back in my bed next to his and smiled at my unconscious husband as I groped for his hand and held fast.
Wishes do come true.
I closed my eyes to sleep. I was at peace.
He did live.
Only, we didn’t. Me, and our unborn child.
Alone in a wheelchair, he curses me even today.
If you could wish again, would you still wish for the same?