Mme. Thénardier: A Wish

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"Good day!" My so-called 'husband' yelled at the guards who carried us out of the wedding.

"This is all your fault!" I yelled at him once we were out of their sight. "I told you he wouldn't have killed someone! You ruin everything!"

"Shu'up." He told me off for one of the first times. It was always me telling him off. "S'girl over there. Looks like some kinda fortune-teller. F'low me."

"Hello." The fortune-teller spoke clearly and perfectly.

"Listen 'ere. You a fortune-teller?" He tried to work the old hat-switching trick, but the fortune teller grasped her headscarf before he could snatch it.

"Five francs for any wish of yours to come true." Her expression remained emotionlessly serene.

"Fine. Thas' qui' a lot. . ." He forked over some fake francs we had created.

"I apologize. We do not accept fake francs here." I swear I could see a little smirk on her mouth.

"'Ey, are you insulting my money? I should call the Beak*! Oh well." He reluctantly gave her real money.

"Sit there." Her voice remained calm. He sat where he was told and made a wish.

"I wish we didn't sell Cosette."

"Les' get goin'." I urged him, and as we left, I tried to take the crystal ball upon her table, but the fortune-teller placed a firm hand on it.

"What was that?" I pinched his ear angrily. "Spendin' our good money on a silly fortune!"

"I'm sorry! Sorry!" He tried to squirm out of my grip but I squeezed harder. Serves that dummy. He ain't smart, not he.

"You'll be sorry. We coulda brought that to the bank and made more!"

He murmured a curse under his breath.

~❤~

Little did he know that that single wish he'd made would change the entire course of everyone's lives. Some place far, far away, a man named Jean Valjean decided not to break parole. And that's where it began.

*the Beak is the Police if you've ever seen Oliver! the musical.

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