Claimed

Content Warning: This story addresses sensitive topics such as mental health struggles, trauma, post-partum depression, and medical complications related to premature birth.

 Didi Godfrey's life felt like a tornado of indifference and longing. At 25, she was stuck in a rut, feeling older than she was, but without any of the perks - a successful career, a significant other, or even a sense of purpose. The black sheep of her family, she'd moved to an unfamiliar town to be closer to her parents, but instead found herself more isolated than ever. The people spoke with unfamiliar language, and the unpredictable weather only added to her sense of displacement.

Her daily routine was a dull march through exhaustion. She gulped down a bagel and coffee each morning before heading to a hot, suffocating manufacturing plant. The air reeked of metal and oil, clinging to her like a second skin. Long hours on the assembly line left her body aching, and her mind numb.

The factory’s flickering lights and constant noise—machinery clanging, steam hissing—wore her down hour by hour. By the end of her shift, she’d collapse onto a park bench, clinging to fleeting moments of peace before the grind began again.

Loneliness gnawed at her. She craved connection but felt invisible. Every attempt at conversation fizzled, and her social media only reminded her that her faraway friends were living fuller, more vibrant lives without her.

One day, as Didi walked along the crowded sidewalk of a street fair, she noticed a preacher standing on the corner. The man radiated charisma, his booming voice cutting through the noise of the fair.

“Miss, you look like you're down on your luck—let me share with you the love of God!” he called out, not missing a beat. “God wants you to live your best life now.”

Didi’s heart raced, curiosity rising within her. Something about him pulled her in like a fish to a lure. The very air seemed to still around him.

“How?” Didi asked, her voice cracking.

The man extended his hand, revealing a strange compass. Its needle spun aimlessly. “Just say the words you feel in your heart. Name it and claim it, and in Jesus' mighty name, it is yours!”

Feeling foolish, Didi glanced around, but something deep inside her stirred—a hunger for change, an escape from this stagnant life. She reached out and took the compass. The metal felt cold, unnervingly light in her hand.

Later, back in her cramped apartment, Didi slumped into a chair, still unsure what to make of the preacher and the compass. She turned on the TV, flipping through channels absentmindedly until she froze—there he was again, the same preacher. The broadcast was a recording, but it felt like he was speaking directly to her.

"Name it and claim it, baby!" the man shouted, dancing across the stage while a choir behind him echoed his words.

Gripping the compass in her aching hand, Didi closed her eyes and whispered, “I deserve happiness. I deserve a family to call my own. Give me my heart’s desires, God, if you're real.”

The needle of the compass spun violently, and Didi clutched it tightly. Then, just as suddenly, it stopped, pointing straight ahead. The air around her thickened with anticipation. When she opened her eyes, everything looked the same—but she knew, deep down, something had changed.

The next morning, her life was different. She found herself in a cozy apartment filled with sunlight and the sweet melody of birds outside her window. When she got to work, she had her own private office, her desk stacked neatly with designs, pamphlets, and projects she had created. Her hands were smooth and delicate, adorned by a beautiful ring.

Her phone buzzed with a new notification. This time, it wasn't just another spam message or ad. It was from Phil, a guy she had admired from afar. His message was sweet, and affectionate, as though they had been together for years.

Didi smiled, feeling a warmth she hadn’t known in a long time.

Two years passed in a blur. Didi was married to Phil, and their relationship was built on laughter and affection. But as time passed, so did the joy. Phil’s frustrations grew more frequent, and Didi found herself lost in the weight of expectation. When she became pregnant, she had hoped it would bridge the gap between them, but instead, the pregnancy came with complications.

Luke was born far too early. His tiny body, pale and fragile, was tethered to machines, a constant reminder of his vulnerability. The NICU was a cacophony of beeping monitors and hushed conversations. Every time Luke’s oxygen levels dipped, alarms would blare, sending Phil and Didi’s hearts racing. 

In the corner of the room, Didi sat in a stiff chair, feeling utterly exposed. There was no privacy in this room, always under the watchful eyes of the nurses who seemed to rotate constantly. 

Her heart sank as she looked at her precious baby, the joys of motherhood slipping away before they ever had a chance to bloom. She felt overwhelmed, unsure where to even begin, the weight of not knowing how to help him pressing down on her. Instead of the tender moments she had dreamed of—maternity photos, holding her baby, nursing him—she was left with machines, wires, and the constant fear of doing something wrong.

Phil came to the hospital often, but even he was starting to unravel. One night, he sat beside her, his face red with anger buried in his hands. “I feel so helpless, Didi,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I hate that I can’t do anything. I hate that I can’t make this better.”

Didi swallowed hard, her throat tight. “I know,” she whispered. “But we have to try to stay positive.”

Phil looked up, his eyes red-rimmed, filled with frustration. “Trying isn’t enough, Didi. I’m so angry. I don’t know what to do with it.” He clenched his fists and slammed them into the arms of the chair.

His words lingered in the sterile air, thick with despair.

When they finally brought Luke home, it wasn’t the happy homecoming Didi had hoped for. Luke’s tiny body still relied on oxygen tanks and monitors that tracked his every breath. They couldn’t sleep without constantly waiting in expectation for the next alarm to sound.

Didi constantly adjusted the tube on Luke’s face, her heart sinking as his delicate skin grew red and irritated. The monitor on his foot left painful rashes, and every time she had to fix it, he cried, his tiny body squirming in discomfort.

One night, as she cradled him, exhausted and barely holding on, she broke down, tears streaming down her face red with frustration. “Why won’t you eat, Luke?” she sobbed, her voice breaking. “What’s wrong? What am I doing wrong?”

Luke cried harder, and Didi’s frustration boiled over. She felt helpless, just like Phil, but with nowhere to channel it. She wanted to scream, to run, to escape the suffocating weight of it all.

In a moment of sheer exhaustion, Didi muttered the words she didn’t mean, the words that changed everything: “I wish this had never happened.”

Didi woke to an eerie silence. Panic gripped her as she realized she wasn't in her home but back in her old, cramped apartment. Phil and Luke were gone, as though they never existed.

“Luke! Phil!” she screamed, tearing through the apartment, her heart pounding, but the emptiness echoed back at her, confirming her worst fear: they were gone as if her life with them had never happened.

She crumbled to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. “I didn’t mean it,” she wailed. “I didn’t mean it!”

But there was no undoing what she had wished for.

As the hours passed, her sobs quieted, but the emptiness remained. She tried to calm herself, to suppress the guilt that gnawed at her heart. This is what I wanted, isn’t it? No more worry over a sick baby. No more alarms and fear.

She glanced around the room—the tiny, cluttered apartment. Her life was hers again - no machines, no alarms, no stress - but also, no Luke. She tried to convince herself it was better this way. But no matter how hard she tried, the hollow ache inside her wouldn’t go away.

Days turned into weeks, and Didi wandered through her new life, haunted by what she had lost. She tried to fill the void with her hobbies and shopping. But none of it felt real. Her hands, once so busy caring for her fragile son, now felt empty.

One afternoon, as she strolled through the park, she saw a couple cradling a baby in their arms, smitten with love. The sight sent a sharp pain through her chest. Luke’s face flashed before her eyes, and the weight of her regret hit her all at once.

She had wished away her son, her fragile, beautiful son. She had thrown him away, and now he was gone.

Didi wandered through her life, haunted by the echo of what could have been. No matter how much success or comfort she found in this alternate ending, the ache for her lost child was a wound that never healed. And deep down, she knew—there was no turning the compass back, no resetting her future.

Her life had been altered, but the path she had once walked was now out of reach. The compass sat on her nightstand, its needle forever spinning as if mocking her. No matter how much she tried to move forward, the ache for the life she had wished away never dulled.

One evening, she sat in front of the compass, holding it in her hands. Its weight felt heavier now, more real. She stared at the needle, willing it to stop and point her back to the family she had forsaken.

Tears blurred her vision as she whispered, “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to let them go.”

But there was no magic left in the device, no way to reverse what had been undone.

Didi collapsed onto the couch, still gripping the compass. She flipped on the TV, her mind spinning. There he was—the preacher, smiling wide, eyes gleaming, and his voice booming.

"God has a plan for you!" he declared. "But here’s the secret: the only thing keeping you from His blessings... is you." The man shook his head, "You need to have more faith, and sow more seeds."

Didi froze, her pulse quickening as the preacher leaned closer into the camera.

"Deep down, you’re scared. You doubt. But God sees your hesitation, and it's holding you back."

The room seemed to close in around her, the preacher’s words sinking into her chest.

"Don’t let fear rob you of the life God has promised," the preacher whispered, his eyes locking onto hers through the screen. "You’ve already named it. Now you must claim it completely—no second thoughts."

Didi's heart raced. The compass lay heavy in her hand, but her mind was flooded with regret. Had she doubted? Had she not claimed enough? The preacher’s words echoed louder in her head, burrowing deeper into her chest.

"Remember," he said, smiling again, "God’s blessings come to those who believe without question."

Didi’s heart clenched as she lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling. The emptiness of her new life was cold comfort. Her days passed like a dream—she had a job, freedom, a comfortable life—but none of it mattered. Not without Luke. Not without Phil.

As the years slipped by, Didi realized that no matter how many distractions she filled her days with, the hollow ache never left. It gnawed at her relentlessly, as she thought about the life she had abandoned, the love she had carelessly wished away.