January 2024

Sean

Sean was more perplexed than ever, and he could feel the discomfort creeping in. He could not take his eyes off the words and images.

Stewart, 

How much would you write on this blank check? 

On the screen was a blank check.

Pay to the order of Stewart O’Cleary. Beside it was a pen. A hand appeared, picked up the pen, and hovered over the check. 

His mind was racing. How can this be possible, he thought. How did they find my birth name? That was supposed to be buried forever.

January 2024

Dee 

Dee was doubled over in laughter, her eyes glistening with delight as the tiny, grooving baby on her Instagram feed wiggled to the rhythm like it was born to dance. For a few precious minutes, time dissolved. This, this absurd little joy, was her daily medicine, her breath of light in a world that too often felt steeped in shadow. Each day seemed a little less heavy now, especially since Claire had walked into her life like sunlight cracking through a storm cloud, reminding her, gently but insistently, that happiness wasn’t a relic of the past. That she could still feel it. Still live it.

It hadn’t come easily. It took effort. Tears. Therapy. Silence. But somewhere along the way, Dee had begun to choose joy, to reach for it, to claim it as hers. And that was no small victory.

But happiness is fickle, and grief is patient.

Later, as she settled into the creaky chair on her back porch, coffee warming her hands, a familiar chill curled around her chest. That old, unwelcome whisper of despair. It crept in slowly, like mist through an open window. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing it away. Why couldn’t she shake this feeling? Why did it still hold her in its grip, even after all this time?

She wanted to vanish. To fold into herself, to disappear into some deep, dark place where the pain would simply unravel into silence. No more bills. No more pretending. No more waking up alone to face a house that echoed with absence.

It had been months since her husband’s sudden death, and still the questions circled her like vultures. He had always been the planner, the one who obsessed over savings and spreadsheets, always talking about “their future.” But now that future felt like a cruel joke. She was 54, broke, and bewildered trying to rebuild her life on top of ashes she hadn’t asked for.

And yet, somewhere in her, a quiet ember still flickered.

But tonight, in this fragile moment, she wasn’t sure if it would be enough.

Dee stared out over her backyard, her mind numb and blank. When she tried to form a single thought, she was met with a pile of random, useless images that made no sense. Her mind was in a fog, and she was bored to tears.

Life had left a gaping hole in her heart years ago that never seemed to heal. The tragic loss of her only two children seemed to toy with her emotions at every opportunity. The memory and sadness tugged at her, holding her forever in a painful vice.

Her only joys were her three grandchildren and the adorable dancing babies on Instagram that made her laugh uncontrollably.

The more she laughed, the better she felt, but her mind and body had other ideas. They did not want to be happy. They yearned for the pain and agony. They began to plead for another dose of depressive poison in her system, which she had become accustomed to.

“What the hell,” she said out loud. “Guess I’ll just waste another day away.” Slumping into her chair, she put her phone down and quickly began to feel the depression take over.

It didn’t take long for her will to wake up. “No, no, no…I want to live. I want to be happy,” she heard herself say out loud. “I want to be happy. Please, please, please. I want to be happy,” she begged the heavens above as a tear rolled down her face.

A small breeze drifted over the porch. Dee took a deep breath and smiled. I can do this. Remember what Claire told you. Just focus.

She grabbed her phone and started flipping through the Instagram posts. She clicked on the reels of dancing babies, grooving to amazing tunes from around the world. She smiled as she watched the little human bodies in their large diapers move and shake to the music. To be so innocent and carefree, that is what she wished for. 

As she scrolled through each video, she felt more relaxed and happier. “This is where I want to be,” she thought aloud. Suddenly, the next scroll stopped her in her tracks. She was confused.

“What in the world? This can’t be.” Before she could process the image on the screen, her phone went dead. The battery was gone. 

She scurried into her bedroom, picked up the charging cord, and plugged it into her dead phone. She had enough time to make a bathroom break and get a glass of water before her phone would get the minuscule amount of power it needed to turn on again. The wait was killing her. Come on, come on, she silently thought as she bounced up and down in confusion.

The excruciating minutes slowly passed. Finally, her phone pulsed back to life. Just as she had left it, the image on the screen still left her in bewilderment. 

Debbie, 

How much would you write on this blank check? 

 On the screen was a blank check with her name on it.

Pay to the order of Debbie Patricia Walker. Beside it was a pen. A hand appeared, picked up the pen, and hovered over the check. 

Her mind was racing. “How can this be possible,” she thought? “I just changed my name yesterday.” 

Copyright © 2025

Part 6 /14

Target publishing date mid August, 2025