Chapter 3

Five years passed, slow and heavy at first, then gradually finding a rhythm.

Michael was my rock, his steady presence a comfort, we rebuilt a life, piece by piece, and now we were engaged, a small spark of brightness in the long shadow of Dad' s death.

We were having a small pre-wedding gathering at our place, Michael' s parents, a few close friends, and Pastor Thorne, who made it his business to "bless" every union in Oakhaven, his presence always a little too large for any room.

Mom was there, quiet as always, a ghost at the edge of the celebration.

Then, she moved.

She approached Michael, her steps deliberate.

She leaned in, just like she had with Dad, and whispered something into Michael' s ear.

A chill went through me, cold and sharp.

Michael' s smile faltered, his eyes widened for a split second before he masked it.

He patted Mom' s hand, a forced reassurance in his voice.

"Just a mother' s well-wishes," he announced to the room, his laugh a little too loud.

But I saw the flicker of unease in his eyes, the way his hand trembled slightly as he reached for his drink.

Michael tried to brush it off later, telling me it was nothing, just Mom being Mom.

"She just said to be careful, Sarah," he said, "You know, motherly advice."

But his casual tone didn't match the tightness around his mouth.

I confessed my lingering fear then, the dread that had been a cold knot in my stomach since Dad died.

"It' s the prophecy, Michael," I whispered, "Her words... they have consequences."

He held me, tried to rationalize it, to soothe my fears with logic, but the shadow of Dad' s death, of Mom' s first utterance, was too long, too dark.