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“Perhaps I am.”
“I know of a pretty good mystic for that sort of thing,” he told her.
“Marvellous. Shall we see her now and hear all tales of our future?” Charlotte asked.
“No need. I have a tale of my own,” he reported.
“Oh? And what’s that.”
He closed his eyes, mocking a mystic. He hummed to himself. “Ah!” he said, opening his eyes wide. “I see beautiful children. Rambunctious ones who drive you crazy.”
“Ah. Marvellous,” Charlotte said, giggling.
“And I see … the kind of life that would make anyone else across the world envious. A life of pleasure. Of happiness. Of generosity and laughter. I see us as very old people, seated on a garden chair, unable to do much but hobble about and collapse. I see us laughing about this fact, missing the old days but honouring the fact that we were allowed to spend them together.”
Charlotte’s heart felt squeezed. “I’ll accept this future. Thank you. Thank you for telling me.”
“The best part is, we don’t even have to work for it,” he said. “We have only to close our eyes, fall asleep, and let time perform the way it always does.”
And day after day, it did.
THE END
