Behind her, a light flickered.
Beth spun round.
The machine glowed – not brightly, not dramatically. Just … alive.
Beth’s heart thudded. ‘No,’ she breathed. ‘No bloody way.’
She crouched again, staring.
No plug. No power. No explanation.
Beth staggered back, her mind scrambling for logic.
‘This isn’t happening,’ she whispered. ‘I’m tired. I’ve inhaled too much dust.’
She reached out and smacked the side of the machine, hard.
The lights blinked out.
Silence crashed down.
Beth stood shaking, breath rasping in her ears. Then her gaze snagged on the lettering etched into the cabinet:Three Wishes. No Refunds.
Beth frowned at the words.
No Refunds.
‘That’s cheerful,’ she muttered. ‘Who hurt you?’
She ran a finger along the etched letters. The metal felt faintly warmer here – not hot, just … aware. As if it had been touched too often by hopeful hands.
A strange, unbidden thought slid into her mind.What if it doesn’t give you what you ask for?
What if it gives you what you need – and lets the wanting do the damage?
Beth shook her head sharply. ‘Listen to yourself,’ she said. ‘You’ve spent too long around menu boards with theatrical names.’
Her throat tightened and a cold realisation settled in her chest.
Three wishes sounded generous. Luxurious, even.
But the truth was that she had been living with dozens of half-wishes for years. Quiet ones she’d never said aloud, because naming them made them sharper.
Wanting a baby.
Wanting Luke back.
Wanting not to feel broken every time someone saidcongratulations.
Three wishes suddenly felt …inadequate.
How were you meant to choose which part of your heart mattered most?
‘I wish I had a baby,’ she whispered, the words spilling out before she could stop them. ‘A child.’ Her voice cracked. ‘That I hadn’t failed at something so many women do every day.’
‘I wish Luke was still with me. That he’d believed in us.’
A sob tore free.
