Trigger Warning: The following story contains themes of emotional abuse, as well as a tragedy involving a young child.

The Amulet

I looked down at my wrist. The amulet, snugly wrapped around it, radiated with magical energy. It was time.

Tears dripped from my eyes. The child in front of me was perfect and peaceful, but eerily still.

Grandma and grandpa should’ve watched him better. They always bickered over inconsequential drivel. She would titter on about the latest from church, over-explain basic recipes, or make sure I had all my husband’s passwords so I’d be okay financially in case he died. Grandpa, on the other hand, was always grumbling. Aggression and control whispered through his every action—even when he played with the grandchildren. On the off chance he was in a good mood, it would only be because he had been reading another World War II memoir.

Uncle and auntie should’ve been less fake. To the untrained eye, their relationship looked perfect. In reality, he was frat-boy-turned-oversexed-military-drone, and she was a Stepford wife. His forte was creating inventive games full of shouting and trickery. They were funny and exciting and they swept everyone off their feet. As he played with the cousins, auntie hobknobbed and bustled with the best of them, rustled up meals in a jiffy, and checked that everything was organic and sulfate-free. She gritted her teeth as she smiled through an incessant masquerade of selfies, persistently documenting how deeply happy and strong they all were as a family, as though to convince herself that marrying uncle hadn’t been a huge mistake.

The cousins should’ve been less bratty. Even at the young age of three, nephew was already an attention-deprived nuisance whose only coping mechanism was roaring like a t-rex. No matter the situation—mealtime, playtime, tv time, or bath time—all nephew ever did was stick out his tiny forearms, gnash his teeth, and yell in his underwear. Meanwhile, niece, the only person in that family with a genuine heart still beating in her chest, was literally the ugliest baby I had ever seen in my life. Her chubby little face with its vapid eyes looked like a plump elderly woman with dementia, and her sparse hair made her look like a half-eaten muppet.

And I—Maybe I should’ve been more honest with myself. An icy breeze had blown through my family ever since I had defied their wishes to pursue my career, and instead settled down. I’d been trying to regain their approval for years—always acting in good faith and praying things would be different. But they never listened, never took personal responsibility, never got help, and never changed. They pretended to be ok with me so we could “have a good time” together, but deep down I could feel their freezing tentacles clawing away at me, desperate to regain control. Maybe I should’ve learned my lesson, spurned my family’s invitation, told them that the decades’ worth of words unspoken were too great a challenge to overcome, and quietly disowned them.

I should’ve spoken sooner. If only I’d spoken sooner—maybe we wouldn’t have been there at all.

But I hadn’t. I hadn’t said anything. I had smiled and gritted my teeth and dug in my heels and agreed to a month away from my loving husband and my little girl, taking the abuse on the chin. While I was sitting there, dissociating, imagining a time in the future when my new family and I would be happy and together again, my beautiful baby boy had wandered off, found the edge of the freshly-poured 8-foot deep concrete swimming pool, and shattered his spine.

Yelling, forgetting phones and keys, unable to remember names, numbers, or addresses, we followed the paramedics to the hospital. The horrible truth began to splinter into my subconscious, and I tiptoed into my safe space—a black hole of grief—as words slowly became nebulous ideas bereft of meaning.

“Broken spine”—“life support”—“the call is yours.” How could any of these phrases be words that applied to my perfect angel?

“Forms to fill out”—“Did I want to spend some time with the child?”—“Take your time.” As though paperwork could ever define the light that was his life. As though anything could ever fill the hole inside of me. As though “time” was something I had an abundance of.

Still, I took them up on their offer. It got me away from the incessant clacking of irreverent tongues, all snapping about whose fault it was and irrelevant woulda-shoulda-couldas.

I couldn’t go back to that nonsense—not now—not ever. Making my way across the cold checkered hospital linoleum, I shut the door, sat down, and put my head in my hands to let the darkness rush over me.

Time slowed to a standstill as I took a moment to process my thoughts. I was about to lose the best, happiest, most amazing person in the entire world. The pain began to choke me, and I loathed myself for ever having picked up the phone that day—at ever having so much as given my family the time of day.

He was just a little baby boy—he hardly even knew how to walk. With him, every experience was new and exciting. Every corner presented a new adventure, and he approached it all with waving arms and shrieks of glee.

The edge of that pool must’ve seemed the grandest adventure of all—worth a twirl of the heel and a spring in the step. He didn’t know the edge was dangerous—he didn’t know he couldn’t survive that fall. He didn’t know those 8 feet would separate him from his mama forever.

The next wave of grief began to break, and fresh blinding, hot tears poured from my pupils.

For some reason—I’ll never know why—I looked down—just for a moment—

My eyes, barely even able to see through the deluge, hit the amulet around my wrist.

I had been with my husband when I got it. The woman who sold it to me had been an odd old crone wearing purple glasses in an antique store. We’d stopped in on a whim on our way into town one day. She had handed me the amulet, its dark crimson depths emanating untold secrets.

“This amulet carries powerful magic that can pause time,” she had told me. “Whenever you choose to activate it, you will enter an alternate dimension, and spend the rest of your days in that moment.”

Then pregnant with my first, I had been so surprised by the assertion that I’d burst out laughing. “How could I possibly know which moment to choose?” I had asked her. “Life is full of so many good moments! I could never choose just one!” The afternoon sun had danced off her bookshelves, alive with the sparkle of depression glass and silver tea sets.

But she had replied cooly, a faraway look in her eye. “I give you this amulet because such a moment will find you,” she said. “When it comes, you will know.”

With a shrug, I had purchased the amulet because it seemed unique. My husband had helped me latch it around my wrist, and I had worn it ever since. Perhaps I found its unique beauty enchanting. Then again perhaps, deep down, part of me had believed her.

I had been stupid—we all had. No one could turn back the hands of time and save baby boy. But as I ran my hand through his golden curls, the truth was, I didn’t think I could live my life without him. His smile was worth a thousand sunrises, and to make him laugh was to glimpse pure joy.

Listening to the heart monitor beep, I realized that it was time to be honest with myself, and start to set things right. I would rather spend the rest of my life staring at his beautiful face than a million other lifetimes wondering what I could’ve done differently. Coming to visit my family had been a mistake, sure. But it was a mistake I still had some small power to rectify.

I whispered a silent prayer as I considered what I was about to do—hoping to God my husband and our daughter would understand—and that somewhere, somehow, they’d be alive and happy together forever, too.

And then I gripped the amulet, and made my wish.

The atmosphere changed. The air thickened. A deep and penetrating peace settled over the room—it seemed the world itself slipped away.

I opened my eyes to look at my baby boy.

His eyes were open, and his toothy grin beamed up at me.

God, I could never get over how perfect he was. He giggled, wiggling his toes, his deep blue eyes dancing with delight. The single best moment of his existence was the moment—any moment—when he saw me sitting right next to him.

“Hey, baby boy,” I said, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. “I hope you’re feeling better.”

He sat up and reached forward, motioning for me to pick him up. I took him in my arms and breathed him in deep, getting high off the lavender baby lotion and the light dampness of his hair. Relaxing into the warmth of our heartbeats, we took a few moments to whisper softly to each other as we snuggled tight.

Chirps and buzzes danced into our ears, and we began to look around. We weren’t in a hospital room any more! Now we were in a wide field under an apple tree, with a babbling brook at the bottom of the hill. Baby boy gasped in wonder, starting to babble along in excitement as he took in the view.

With the warm sun snuggling us, we walked down the hill towards the brook together. His tiny hands held onto my arms, and my bittersweet tears dampened our cheeks.

He would never be more than just one year old. He’d never learn his times tables, never graduate college, and never get married. No, ours would be a simple life, full of simple joys. We would spend every day doing whatever we wanted, and make countless memories we’d never recount to anyone but each other. More importantly—he would always be alive. And I would always be his mama.

With the sun high over us, not a cloud in the sky, and a hint of jasmine playfully teasing our noses, we reached the brook at the bottom of the hill. I sat baby boy down, and he turned to look at me, ecstatic. Water was his favorite thing.

“I love you too, baby boy,” I said to him, kissing him on the forehead as he splashed in the stream. “I can’t wait to spend forever with you in this moment.” He smiled at me big.

Then off we walked together into the playful stream. The joy of the water refreshed our spirits, and our souls prepared for a time better and deeper than all that had gone before—while also looking forward to this timeless thing called “forever” which we somehow already knew had been set in our hearts all along.