At long last, she understood.
Ten minutes later, Desa sat on the edge of the platform, hunched over and pawing at her face to wipe the tears away. “Thank you,” she choked out. “I know why I needed to see that.”
“It can’t have been easy,” Mercy said behind her.
Twisting around, Desa held the other woman’s gaze. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “It wasn’t. But I understand now. That is what he would have become if I had let him live.”
Mercy stood there like a teacher whose student had come oh so close to the right answer without actually finding it. “No, I’m afraid you don’t understand,” she countered. “That is what he could have become if you had let him live. The future is not written, Desa. We make it every day.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are millions of different paths,” Mercy sa
