“If I tell you, you might be angry at Mom. You might walk out and never come back.”
But she didn’t smile.
“Sophie, nothing you could say would make me do that.”
She studied me for a long moment.
“Mom cries at night. She says she did something terrible to you a long time ago.”
My blood ran cold.
“That was between me and your mom. It won’t change how I feel about you.”
“But my next wish is about Mom.” She looked up at me with fear in her eyes. “And you can’t refuse, even if she did something terrible to you. Please.”
“She says she did something terrible to you a long time ago.”
Something in the way she said it made my stomach tighten.
“What did she tell you?”
“Nothing. But I know she’s scared that you’ll go away if you know the truth.”
I should have asked more questions.
Instead, I looked at this little girl who had never asked me for anything bigger than pancakes and a car ride and made a promise I wasn’t sure I could keep.
“What did she tell you?”
“I promise I won’t refuse.”
She let out a shaky breath.
“Then here’s my real wish. Can you be Mom’s wish granter too?”
I blinked, confused.
“You want me to buy her something?”
“I promise I won’t refuse.”
She shook her head firmly.
“No. Not that.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Everybody asks what I want. Doctors, nurses, you. Nobody helps Mom anymore.”
“Sophie…”
“She sleeps in that chair beside my bed. She only eats when I eat. She hasn’t seen her friends in months.”
“No. Not that.”
“She sold her guitar,” Sophie continued. “She used to play it every morning.”
Sophie stopped to catch her breath.
I reached automatically for the water beside her bed.
She took two small sips before continuing, as determined to finish this conversation as if it mattered more than whatever her body was putting her through.
It mattered more than whatever her body was putting her through.
“She said we needed the money, but I know she just stopped being herself.”
I didn’t say anything.
I couldn’t.
Then she reached under her pillow and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
“I made a list,” she said. “Things Mommy used to like.”
She handed it to me like it was something sacred.
“I made a list,”
I unfolded the paper expecting a list of things I could easily arrange.
By the time I reached the last line, I understood why Sophie had made me promise not to refuse.
The handwriting was small and careful.
Dancing in the kitchen.
Wearing lipstick.
I unfolded the paper expecting a list of things I could easily arrange.
Having coffee with a friend.
Laughing so hard she snorts.
A picture Mom doesn’t take.
Playing music again.
None of it cost a thing.
“Sophie,” I said quietly, “these are all so small.”
None of it cost a thing.
“They’re not small to her. Daniel, everyone keeps waiting for me to get better. And I want to. But if I don’t…”
“Don’t say that.”
She gave me a tired little smile.
“If I don’t,” she pressed on gently, “Mom will have nothing left. She’s forgotten how to be a person who isn’t just my mom.”
I set the list down on the blanket, my hand not quite steady.
“She’s forgotten how to be a person who isn’t just my mom.”
The words landed somewhere deep, in a place no wish had ever reached before.
I swallowed hard.
Then I tucked the list into my pocket, close to my heart.
“Okay,” I whispered. “I’ll try.”
“You have to promise.”
I tucked the list into my pocket
“I promise.”
She finally smiled, and it broke something open in me.
“But Daniel?” she added. “Don’t tell her I asked you. She’d be embarrassed.”
I nodded.
But I already knew keeping that secret would be the hardest part.
“Don’t tell her I asked you.”
Because the moment I started chasing coffee and lipstick and kitchen dancing, Rebecca was going to know exactly who had sent me.
And I had no idea whether she’d thank me for it or slam the door in my face.
The next morning, I arrived at their house with two coffees and a small paper bag.
Sophie’s list sat in my pocket like a secret mission I had sworn to complete.
Rebecca was going to know exactly who had sent me.
I lasted less than five minutes before Rebecca realized exactly what we had done.
“What’s all this?” Rebecca asked, eyeing the bag as I stepped inside.
“Coffee. The good kind, not the instant stuff you keep hiding in the cabinet.”
She almost smiled.
I pulled out my phone and played an old song, one Sophie swore her mother used to dance to while cooking.
I lasted less than five minutes
“Come on,” I said. “Dance with me in the kitchen.”
Rebecca froze.
The warmth drained from her face, replaced by something sharp.
“Sophie put you up to this, didn’t she? God, that’s what that list under her pillow was about.”
“Rebecca, listen to me—”
“No.” Her voice cracked.
“Sophie put you up to this, didn’t she?”
“I don’t need your charity, Daniel. I don’t need you looking at my life like it’s broken.”
I set the coffee down slowly.
“This isn’t charity. And it isn’t pity.”
“Then what is it?” she snapped. “What am I to you, another wish to grant?”
The words stung because I still didn’t know the answer.
“What am I to you, another wish to grant?”
“Sophie told me nobody ever asks what you want anymore. Everyone asks about her. She feels like you gave up everything for her when she got sick.”
Rebecca turned away, her hand pressed to her mouth.
