Darren jerked as if struck by an invisible whip.
He lifted his gaze, staring up at the sea of crimson wish tags overhead, then suddenly barked out, “Lottie, there’s no way Charlotte would ever agree to burn these!”
He couldn’t fathom why Charlotte had loved him for so many years, but ten years—three thousand wishes? She would really set them all alight with a single match?
He didn’t believe it for a second.
His face hardened, voice cold and threatening. “If you’re doing this on your own, you’ll pay dearly for it—I promise you.”
Hearing Darren’s blind certainty, Charlotte felt a chill settle in her chest.
Even now, did he truly think she still held on to any affection for him? That she couldn’t let go?
Her voice was steady, unwavering. “Mr. Harrington, you can rest assured. I swear on my life—this is Charlotte’s wish. No one else’s.”
Her words dropped like a gavel. In that instant, Darren felt something hollow out his chest, leaving nothing but emptiness.
She really meant to burn every wish she’d ever made for him?
His throat tightened, a parade of memories flashing before his eyes—two years ago, when he’d forced her to sign those divorce papers, every harsh word, every cold dismissal. Now, he found himself speechless, unable to muster even a single argument.
Five minutes later, Father Temple arrived with two monks in tow.
They climbed the old tree and carefully removed every last wish tag, piling them into a brass fire bowl.
Three thousand wishes—enough to overflow the bowl completely.
Father Temple handed Charlotte a lighter, folding his hands in prayer. “Ashes to ashes, all things rise and pass away. Nothing born, nothing lost. May you find peace…”
With the quiet cadence of his words in the air, Charlotte flicked the lighter.
She tossed the flickering flame into the bowl.


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