On Monday morning, I found Emily at her locker.
She saw me and froze. “Well?”
“It worked,” I said.
Her hands flew to her mouth. “No way.”
“It did,” I said, and my voice went thick. “Emily… thank you.”
“I just thought you deserved to know.”
She shrugged, but her eyes shone. “I just thought you deserved to know.”
As she walked away, she called over her shoulder, “You have to tell me everything!”
“Absolutely not,” I called back.
She cackled and disappeared into the crowd.
And I stood there in the hallway, 62 years old, with my old locket in my pocket and a brand-new kind of hope in my chest.
Not a fairytale.
And for the first time in decades, I wanted to step through it.
Not a do-over.
Just a door I didn’t think would ever open again.
And for the first time in decades, I wanted to step through it.
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If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about a man whose wife left him for his brother, but the pair got their just deserts on their wedding day.
