I Can Work A Miracle Novels & Stories

He grabbed a packet and practically ran. Miranda smoothed her already perfect hair, the motion practiced. "I should get back to work. Some of us have actual responsibilities." "Yeah, I should probably figure out what mine are. First day and all that." I raised my mug in a mock toast, the ceramic warm in my palm. "Thanks for the coffee tutorial, Mirinda. Super helpful." "It's—" She stopped herself, clearly realizing I was doing it deliberately. Her smile could have frozen hell. "Have a wonderful day, Mrs. Damien."

what if there was something more to it. “I know that they claim our boss is infertile and you might just be the key but I don’t want you to feel reluctant or think you can just give up everything to their believe,you should also try to see if you can break that curse Blair keeps pouring on them.” Mirabel said and for once I finally saw her as a wise person, so maids could be this wise. “I understand Mirabel and you don’t have to worry. I also don’t plan on rejecting Marc because he is more like a savior to me.” I said to mirabel who couldn’t understand but smiled anyways.

Can one speak like this from a moral high ground? No one could belittle Austin like this. He was a miracle worker, but he wasn't a saint. "There are so many patients in the world, so many people on the brink of death, hovering on the edge of suffering every day. "Does the miracle worker have to save every single one? Can he save them all? "Even if he does his utmost and tries to save every patient, his ability and energy are ultimately limited. There will definitely be many people who aren't taken care of."

After some rustling movements and moving back and forth it finally started. Jess muttered something under her breath like "I am surprised it has not expired like grandpa and is still running .Miracle does exist".I just shook my head and ignored her. I did not know what had happened to her. Why was she being mean since we left the house?It was the first time I saw her behaving like this.

It was getting serious by the day. I drove my focus to the cracked mirror, I kept mumbling slowly, my gaze and utmost focus on the cracked lines. I concentrated, I pulled my hands up in the air, my lips moving fervently as I desperately tried to use whatever magic in me to have it fixed back and looking anew. After several minutes of trials, I groaned in desperation. Frustration and impatience, becoming a plight of mine. I still couldn't understand what has been happening to me this past days. Ever since that day, I discovered I still have what little left of magic pulsing through my veins. It's dormant, but it's there. I've tried even the most basic spell, but it doesn't work. I clinched my

Unable to speak the lie and tell her it was true, I shrugged casually. “I guess it doesn’t matter if I tell you or not. I have learned the hard way that there are no guarantees in life and sometimes you have to do the work yourself instead of waiting for a miracle.” Her words cut through me like butter. Although she wasn’t wrong, I hated that she had to find that out the hard way. Although, I did still believe in miracles, even if they were rare. “Then what is your wish?” “That I can be as happy as I am today, all the time.”

“Don’t be mean. She’s just doing her job.” “Doing her job? If she really cared, she’d let me out of here so I could see you! You’re the only cure I need. Just seeing you would get me back on my feet!” “Cut it out. You make it sound like I’m some kind of miracle drug.” “Heh! You are my miracle cure! I’d crawl out of my grave if it meant seeing you!” “Okay, okay, stop. That’s getting creepy.” Serena sobered up. “Actually, I need your help with something.”

The rest are either gone, scattered, or I do not want to think about it right now. Don't think about it. Think about what happens next. Mira speaks first. "How bad is it?" she asks. Her voice is flat and direct, the way it always gets when she is deciding whether something is survivable. "The curse is gone," I say. "What it cost me to break it is still working itself out." "That's not what I asked." "I know." She waits. "I'm functional," I say. "Not at full strength. But functional." She nods once. Then she looks at me for a long moment. That look she has where she is not just seeing what is in front of her but running it through everything she knows about you and measuring it against everyt

But instead of telling him this, I shake my head and say, “No. I guess he’s now forgotten that I exist, which is a good thing, I guess.” “Hm,” is all he says. We drive to the bowling place and I try not to think about everything that has been happening. I’ll give myself this one weekend to recenter. It’s not easy, though. It’s hard. But all I can do is hope that, come Monday, a miracle will happen that will allow me to keep working. Only, I don’t know how that miracle might look like.

I had lied to Mirabel , telling her that I was too ill to come into work. In a way, this is true. I'm really ill, but mentally. I'm mentally unwell. I just want to stay in bed all day, wrapped up in my covers. I know it is too early for me to be missing work, but I can't help myself. It feels wrong to take advantage of Mirabel's kindness, but I can't muster the energy to face the customers and coworkers. I am not just in the right frame of mind for it. I toss my phone onto the nightstand. I try to relax, resting my head on the pillow. I shut my eyes tight, willing myself to drift off to sleep.