Our Infinite Fates

by Laura Steven

“What’s your secret, Evelyn? How does the candle of hope in your chest never burn down to the wick?” Gazing up at the phoenix sky, I searched myself for the answer, like running my fingers over an ancient map. “I think I understood a long time ago that big joy and small joy are the same. It sounds trite, but it’s true. Last year I won a major tennis tournament and brought home a huge cash prize for my family. I would’ve been on my way to the Championnat de France, if it weren’t for the war. Big joy. Really, really big joy. “But that victory felt no different from curling up in an old armchair with a faded blanket and reading my little sister a bedtime story. It felt no different from a perfect pot of coffee, or a warm croissant fresh from the bakery. And so even when there’s no big joy—even when it feels like we’ll never leave this trench alive—there’s still the small joy. A sunset, a flask of tea. Your hand in mine.”