Wish - Chapter 10

Chapter 10

David, surprised but not hesitating, scooped Ashley into his arms, her limp body enveloped in his coat. Ethan caught only a glimpse of her before looking away, his gaze landing on her hand dangling from the coat.

He saw the old scar on her ring finger, and the fresh, angry marks surrounding it. One of her fingernails was broken and bleeding. He couldn’t look any longer. The silence in the house was suffocating.

Ethan stumbled down the stairs, his mother’s voice calling his name, unheard. He walked out into the snow–covered garden, feeling numb. He stood there, the snow piling on him, until his knees buckled, and he sank to the ground.

He had despised her, looked down on her, but it was him, and his entire family, who were truly despicable. He was grateful now that the world hadn’t known about them. He was disgusted by his own bloodline.

I woke up in the hospital, David by my side. His bloodshot eyes lit up when he saw me stir. “Ashley, you’re awake!”

I nodded weakly, my throat raw and scratchy. “Water?” he asked, already pouring me a glass of warm honey water. He helped me sit up, holding me close as I drank. “I’ll get you some broth later.”

He touched my forehead, kissing me softly. I looked at him questioningly. He seemed to know what I wanted to ask. “Nothing happened. Don’t worry.” He paused. “We should thank Ethan, actually. If he hadn’t been there…”

I leaned against him, turning to look out the window. “Is it still snowing?”

“It stopped. Tomorrow will be sunny.”

“Ashley,” he whispered, “every day will be sunny from now on.”

After everything was settled, everyone punished, the weight finally lifted from my shoulders. David went with me to visit my mother’s grave. It had been in a neglected corner of the cemetery, a reflection of her tragic life and death.

Mrs. Miller had bought the plot. I had been grateful then, but now, it just felt…sad. We moved her remains to a new place, a peaceful spot with rolling hills, a clear stream, and wildflowers.

I knelt there for a long time, confessing my youthful resentment, my childish anger. David knelt beside me, his presence a silent comfort. I cried, then I laughed, my hand resting on the cool stone.

“Mom, this is David. He loves me. He’s good to me. You can rest easy now.”

David took my hand, his voice serious. “Helen, it’s more than like. I love her.”

The wind rustled the new grass. I told him I’d made a wish at my mother’s grave. He pulled me close. “What did you wish for?”

I smiled. “Old dreams fulfilled, new ones to make. I can’t tell you, or it won’t come true.”

He hugged me tighter, his eyes and lips curving into a soft, tender smile. He must have remembered that night in Miami, our blurry reflection in the glass, his Facebook post. My words echoed his own.

(Ethan’s Perspective)

I turned thirty the year David and Ashley got married. Thirty, they say, is when a man finds his footing. But for me, thirty was the beginning of the end.

I was the last Miller standing. Ironically, the family business thrived under my leadership. I sent a lavish wedding gift, which they returned. I tried to transfer some of my shares to Ashley, a meager attempt at making amends for what my family had done.

She refused. “My husband takes care of me. I don’t need your money, Mr. Miller. If you really have too much, donate it to charity.”

I did as she said, pouring most of my fortune into philanthropic causes, earning awards and accolades that meant nothing to me. What I wanted was simple, something I’d once taken for granted: sharing a cup of tea with Ashley in her garden on a sunny day, joining her and David for hot pot…

But those days were gone forever She’d said we were just friends but forever. She’d said we were just friends, but now, even that was an impossible dream. They talk about self–fulfilling prophecies. Why couldn’t that one have come true?

She had a daughter. I’d heard the Carters were an old–fashioned family. I’d wondered if they’d be disappointed it wasn’t a son.

I’d wondered if they wouldn’t treat Ashley and her daughter well…But how could they not? And why was I hoping for their unhappiness?

I heard that David scheduled a minor surgery right after their daughter was born. Ashley had cried. She’d never been a crier. Not when I was sick or injured, not even when she’d cut her hand so badly, losing a chunk of flesh.

Speaking of that scar…she’d taken that for me, shielding me from a broken bottle. She had loved me once. I’d thrown it all away.

I thought of the rings David gave her. One was 11.8 carats. But she rarely wore it. She wore her plain Bulgari wedding band, the scar on her finger exposed, a constant reminder of me.

After all these years, that ugly scar was the only thing I’d truly given her. When their daughter turned three, I set up a trust fund for her, a large sum to be released on her eighteenth birthday. I donated everything else.

My thirty–sixth year was my benmingnian, a supposedly unlucky year in the Chinese zodiac. They say it brings a trial, a tribulation. If you don’t survive it, you’re doomed. I didn’t survive mine. I didn’t want to.

On a snowy day in DC, I closed the garage door, lit the charcoal grill, and sat in my car. In my final moments, I dreamt of Ashley and David, sharing a sweet potato like they had as teenagers. I was watching them from the shadows, envious of their happiness, resentful.

But this time, I didn’t stay hidden. I ran towards them, grabbing Ashley’s hand. “Come on, Ashley, we have to go! Your mother’s dying…” I pulled her along, running, running, finally changing their fate. She ended up with David, just like she was supposed to.

They dated secretly, then told their families in college, receiving their blessings. They got married, had a daughter, lived happily ever after. And I? I was just a friend.

Just a friend.

THE END