The gray light dimmed. The field shimmered. The door behind us shuddered like it was trying to hold something back.
The mother sobbed in Papa's arms, eyes wide, her voice cracking with hysteria. "That's not what I meant. I didn't want that. Please—take it back. Please take it back!"
"I can't," I said flatly. There was nothing more annoying than someone having their wish granted and not being appreciative. I mean, this was her wish, her intentions. If she wanted something different, then she should have made sure to add it into the fine print.
"You brought it here!" she continued, gripping Papa harder. "This was your doing!"
"No," I corrected, shaking my head. "You did."
The door didn't close; didn't disappear like I thought it would. Instead, it simply staying, waiting. Like it knew we weren't finished.
I turned toward it one last time.
