DOMINIC
A soft chime drew my attention.
I lifted my head slightly from where it rested against the altar, staring blankly at the clock.
Thirty minutes to Christmas.
"A miracle," I murmured, glancing back at the cross. What do I need to do for you to answer me this time?
My mother died from an accidental fentanyl overdose. I was there when it happened. Even though I couldn't fully understand what she was going through at that age, I understood one thing clearly.
Her pain.
Her suffering, right up until everything went still.
I cried, believing that if I prayed hard enough, I would see her again. I thought I would be granted at least one miracle. That everything would turn out to be a bad dream.
Nothing happened.
I was left with a gaping void in my heart.
The only person who ever cared about me was gone. The emotional abuse that followed afterward was no joke. I could still remember every word, every bruise, as if it all happened yesterday.
