The church is quiet as I light the last candle in the row, closing my eyes and murmuring a desperate prayer. A cold whisper of a draft blows against my neck, and when I open my eyes, my candle is the only one lit.
Unlike most people, the prospect of spring’s arrival filled me with not with hope and excitement, but apprehension and dread. Every day I stared at the small mound of dirt in my backyard, knowing it wasn’t just the ground that was thawing.
Waiting at the bus stop, I sigh heavily as I stare at the ground, feeling the rain drum against my shoulders. I panic when the raindrops start to feel like fingers.
What should have been an occasion to celebrate had immediately turned into a nightmare of police questioning, media harassment, and stress. After all, finding a hundred thousand dollars in your living room wall is great, unless you find a body stuffed in next to it.
I should have known something was off about my date, Steve, from the beginning. Anyone who lets a match burn down to their fingers without flinching should not be trusted.
From the first day I met him, he promised to always love and protect me. Hollow words from someone who was keeping me chained up in his basement.
I shifted on my stool, a worn picture of my deceased husband’s photo in my hands. Before the priestess snapped her fingers, she gave me one warning: “Be carefull what you wish for.”
My daddy always told me that the tingles I felt on the back of my neck was my guardian angel watching over me. But now that it’s whispering in my ear I’m really not so sure.