For my last wish, I wished you back to me.
It’d been nearly a year since the funeral, but the time had done nothing. If anything, my life had fallen farther apart each passing day.
So I wished.
The Genie smiled, nodded, and told me my wish was granted, and that you’d be home by dusk.
So here I sit. With a bottle of the wine we drank the first weekend you came to town to see me, and cinnamon rolls from the place at the mall you’d always liked.
And a shotgun.
However it turns out, I’m ready.