Angel Michael: A Birthday Miracle

The Hilcrest air hung thick with salt and spring blossoms, a cruel mockery of the storm raging inside me. It was my birthday, and Henry, true to form, had gifted me an hour of venom before I opened my shop. His words were like acid, dissolving what little faith I had left. Henry’s hour-long tirade, designed to dismantle every ounce of worth I possessed. "Happy birthday," he'd snarled, the words laced with venom, "hope you choke on it."

Want to read more?

Subscribe to godsbiscuits.com to keep reading this exclusive post.

Subscribe Now