Chapter 2: Playing Along With Fate

When I opened my eyes again, I was back at Dad's birthday party.

The world snapped back into focus.

Dad at the head of the table, beaming, the room full of chatter and clinking glasses. I knew what was coming this time, and I was ready.

He was up there, making his big announcement like he was on stage.

His voice rang out, full of pride and excitement. I could see the anticipation in his eyes, the way he scanned the crowd for approval. I felt a cold knot form in my stomach.

"Today, I, Jerry Thompson, am honored to introduce my wife, Ms. Megan Walker. From now on, she’s my partner, my family, my everything."

He spoke like he was delivering a speech at an awards show, basking in the attention. I kept my expression neutral, hands folded in my lap. Inside, my thoughts spun.

Amid the awkward buzzing of relatives, Megan strutted onto the stage in sky-high heels, beaming with pride. I watched her, the twins trailing behind, and felt nothing but contempt.

She owned the room, her heels clicking on the polished floor, a smug smile plastered on her face. The twins trailed behind, looking bored. The relatives exchanged glances, some impressed, others scandalized.

Looking at her smug face, this time I went with it and clapped hard for the happy couple.

I clapped loudly, my smile wide and empty. Inside, I thought, Here you go, Dad—this is what you wanted.

My wife was confused. "Honey, what is going on?"

She leaned in, voice barely above a whisper, her brow furrowed in concern. I squeezed her hand, reassuring her with a quick smile. I could see the worry in her eyes.

I squeezed her hand and grinned.

"Perfect—he's got two sons now to take care of him in his old age. From now on, we don't have to worry about him anymore."

I kept my tone light, but there was steel underneath. Autumn’s eyes widened, realization dawning. For the first time, I felt a strange sense of relief. Finally, I could let go.

Word of Dad's marriage spread fast.

The news raced through the family grapevine, hitting every branch.

By the next morning, even my old gym teacher had texted to ask if it was true. Small towns never forget a good scandal.

From great-aunts and uncles to nephews and cousins, everyone heard he'd married a young, beautiful wife.

It was all anyone could talk about at the diner, the barbershop, even church on Sunday. People gossiped over coffee, their voices full of disbelief and envy. I kept my head down, letting them talk.

"Old Jerry's got skills—over sixty and still managed to land such a looker."

The guys at the auto shop cracked jokes, nudging each other, half in awe, half in disbelief. I rolled my eyes every time I heard it. If only they knew the truth.

"You can tell by the way he polishes his shoes and dresses like a rich bachelor—he's never been one to settle down."

The women at the salon snickered, comparing notes on his new wardrobe and sudden interest in cologne. I could barely recognize him anymore. What a joke.

"You're just jealous. His son has money! Now he's got two more 'good sons'—Old Jerry's set for an easy retirement!"

The old men at the park nodded sagely, as if they’d cracked the code to happiness. I just shook my head, letting them talk. No one really knew what was going on.

Honestly, I couldn’t wait to see how those two 'good sons' would treat him—and what kind of 'blessings' he’d get.

I bit back a laugh every time someone mentioned it.

After some digging, I found out Megan was a locally famous online streamer with tens of thousands of followers. Dad probably met her through a short video app. I could barely believe it.

Her face was all over the internet—singing, dancing, unboxing gifts from fans. Dad must’ve stumbled onto her feed during one of his late-night scrolling sessions.

I checked out her profile. In her pinned video, she and Dad were all lovey-dovey, feeding each other strawberries. My stomach turned just watching it.

The sight of Dad giggling like a teenager, juice running down his chin, was almost too much to bear.

Seriously?

I muttered under my breath, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” It was like watching a car crash in slow motion—you want to look away, but you can’t.

I wanted to gouge my eyes out.

Dad kept the momentum going, hired a part-time cleaner, hung up a big family photo of the four of them, and said he was moving the woman and her sons in. My wife went stiff when she heard. I could see the panic in her eyes.

He was all about appearances now—posing for family portraits, making sure the house looked perfect for visitors. Autumn’s smile was tight, her eyes distant. I could tell she was struggling to hold it together. I hated seeing her like that.

"You mean... the seven of us, all living together?"

Her voice was soft, almost hopeful, as if maybe she’d misunderstood. I wished she had.

Dad was blunt: "What else? That's my wife. Her kids are my kids. You really want them stuck in a rental?"

He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, dismissing any concern. He didn’t even look at Autumn as he spoke. I clenched my jaw, biting back my anger.

My wife had always been the patient type—always willing to back down, even if it meant taking the hit.

She hated conflict, always the first to compromise, even when she shouldn’t have to. It was one of the things I loved about her, but sometimes I wished she’d stand her ground. I could see the pain behind her smile.

This time, she hesitated for a long while, but finally said, "Fine, let them stay. It's just a few more plates at the table."

Her words were quiet, but I could hear the strain behind them. She forced a smile, trying to make the best of a bad situation. I wanted to pull her close and promise her it would all be okay.

My head throbbed. She didn't have to back down—she was my wife, she deserved a good life, not to put on a brave face for me.

I watched her, guilt gnawing at me.

She’d given up so much already—her job, her friends, even her hometown. She deserved more than this.

She'd already suffered enough over the years.

The sacrifices she’d made weighed on me. I remembered the nights she cried herself to sleep, the way she smiled through the pain. I swore to myself I wouldn’t let her suffer anymore.

Our blood types weren't compatible. She'd lost several pregnancies to hemolytic disease. After years of struggle, we finally had our daughter through IVF. With no one to help after the birth and my mom gravely ill, she had to give up the job she loved and devote herself entirely to the family. It nearly broke her. I still remember the look in her eyes—tired, but determined.

The hospital visits, the endless tests, the heartbreak of every loss—she bore it all with quiet strength. When Madison finally arrived, it felt like a miracle. But the timing was cruel—Mom was fading, and Autumn was alone, juggling everything while I worked overtime.

I couldn't let her and our daughter suffer any more!

If my dad's nonsense was going to destroy my family, then forget being the "dutiful son."

I made up my mind. Family came first—my real family. I wouldn’t let tradition or guilt stand in the way.

I said coldly, "Let me be clear—if they cause any trouble, I'm not cleaning up after them. If you can handle it, be my guest!"

My tone left no room for argument.

"What? My wife is sweet and the kids are cute—what trouble could they possibly cause?"

He laughed, waving off my concerns. I could tell he thought I was being dramatic, but I knew better.