Hey, you wont believe the story I heard about my friend Molly. When she was sixteen, an old Romani woman at Borough Market grabbed her wrist, stared into the lines of fate and said, Youll never walk down the aisle. Molly just laughed it off.
Years later, James got down on one knee with a ring, and the words came back to her. She smiled and said, Well, at least Ill be a bride, joking as she said yes. They got married, but children didnt come right away. The doctors were blunt: infertility, no options.
Fine, Ill at least be a wife, Molly sighed, trying not to cry. Then, out of nowhere, she got pregnant. The doctors warned, Its risky, you may not survive. She just grinned, Well, at least Ill be pregnant. She gave birth to a sturdy, healthy boy.
The years rolled on. Molly and James rode the whole ridejoy and loss, laughter and tears, ups and downs. Forty years flew by like a single day. Then a new diagnosis: You have six months left, the doctors said. Molly looked them straight in the eye and said, Then Ill go skydiving. Ive always wanted to. So she jumpedonce, twice, again and again.
A few months later, when she went for the followup scans, the illness was gone. Because as long as youre truly living, fate just gives you a little shrug and rewrites the story all over again.
