Chapter 1: The Day My Luck Broke

My wife refused to let me touch her for five years after we got married. She always said she needed to turn her luck around—said maybe if she found Jesus, became a real born-again Christian, things would get better. She talked about fate, about curses, about being saved, like it was all one big tangle. But now, after all that, she's pregnant—with another man's child.

Sometimes, when I look back, it feels like the kind of story you’d hear from a buddy after a few too many drinks at a bar—voice low, eyes glassy, everything blurry at the edges. But this was my life. I was the punchline. And the pain in my chest? That was no joke. It was real. It burned.

When I found the pregnancy test in her purse, my hand shook so badly I almost dropped it. My voice came out rough. "What is this, Marissa?"

My heart was pounding, so loud it drowned out everything else. The little white stick trembled between my fingers. Her perfume—vanilla with a sharp, bitter edge—hung in the air. The kitchen clock ticked. Tick. Tick. Tick. I waited.

She smiled. Not a hint of shame. "Well, you found out. I'm pregnant with Carter's baby."

There was nothing like regret or guilt in her eyes. Just this slow, lazy kind of satisfaction, like she’d been dying to say it. She even took a second to straighten her blouse, as if she was heading out to brunch, not confessing to cheating on her husband.

"Get the guest room ready. He'll be moving in."

Her words just hung there—so casual, like she was asking me to run out to Home Depot for lightbulbs. I stared at her. The world tilted. Was she serious? Did she really think I was made of stone?

My fingernails dug into my palm. She wanted that man to live under our roof. Move in. My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached. What did she take me for? An idiot?

The silence between us was so thick, I could barely breathe. My jaw throbbed. I wondered if she could hear the grinding of my teeth.

"No," I said flatly. She slapped me across the face.

The sting burned—hot, humiliating. My cheek flared, and for a second, I tasted blood. She’d never hit me before. My pride snapped, but I forced my voice to stay steady.

"Evan Porter, get this straight. You only married into my family to please Grandpa. You're nothing but a good luck charm to us. What right do you have to say no?"

Her words hit harder than the slap. I felt them in my bones. She said it like it was obvious, her eyes cold, chin high. For her, I was just some lucky rabbit’s foot. Nothing more.

She grabbed my chin, fingers digging in. "The child isn't yours, but the wife is. You'd better not forget your place."

Her nails pressed crescents into my skin. I caught the shimmer of tears in her eyes, but her voice was pure ice. That contradiction twisted my insides.

She’d always looked down on me, acting like being a devout believer made her better than everyone else.

She flaunted her faith—quoting scripture at dinner, making us pray before meals even with guests. She wore that cross everywhere, never letting me forget she was 'saved.'

But she had no idea who I really was. She thought she was basking in her own light, but it was mine—she only managed to change her luck because I was there. She was just a shadow, thinking she was the sun.

If only she knew what I’d given up, what I’d hidden. I’d done more for her than she could imagine, and she took my silence for weakness.

The child isn't mine, but the wife is? How could she say something so shameless? My mouth went dry. Was this really what five years came down to?

It twisted in my chest. I could barely breathe. Five years—reduced to this.

We've been married five years, but we've never once shared a bed.

The master bedroom was always hers. I slept in the guest room, my pillow cold and untouched. I kept telling myself it was temporary, that things would change.

Even on our wedding night, she pushed my hand away and spent the whole night praying out on the porch swing.

I remembered the creak of the swing, her white dress glowing in the moonlight. She whispered prayers until dawn, her breath fogging in the cold. I watched her from the window, not sure if I felt sorry for her or angry.

I thought her bad luck had beaten her down, so I understood her desperation. I figured, once we got married, things would finally turn around for her. I kept thinking, just give it another week. Another month. We had time.

I was patient—maybe too patient. I thought if I gave her space, let her work through it, she’d come back to me. I kept telling myself: next week, next month, maybe next year.

But I never imagined she'd get pregnant by another man.

That thought never even crossed my mind. Not once. I’d trusted her, even when it didn’t make sense.

I grabbed her hand, staring at her beautiful, cold, fragile face. I didn’t want to let go. I wanted to give her one more chance.

Her skin was cool, almost delicate. I remembered the first time I saw her—her laughter filling the room, making me believe in second chances. Now her eyes were hard as glass. I felt something break inside me.

"Marissa, get rid of this baby, and I'll pretend none of this ever happened."

My voice cracked at the end. I was begging. God, I hated myself for it. But I had to try.

She exploded. "Evan Porter, how could you be so heartless?"

Her voice shot up, bouncing off the walls. She hugged her stomach, eyes wild—like I’d threatened her life.

"That's a living child inside me! How could you be so cruel and ask me to abort it?"

She started rolling her prayer beads between her fingers, muttering, "Sinful, sinful."

Her lips moved fast, whispering prayers. The beads clicked, steady and relentless. She wouldn’t meet my eyes. The air was thick with incense from her morning devotion.

All I tasted was bitter irony. It stuck in my throat.

I almost laughed, but it caught. The hypocrisy choked me. I wanted to shake her, make her see.

"I'm cruel? You lied to me for five years and cheated on me—how is that not cruel?"

My words just bounced off her. She clutched her beads tighter, mumbling. Did she even hear me?

She ignored me, just kept praying under her breath, like I wasn’t even there.

I watched her lips move, eyes squeezed shut. She looked like she was trying to pray me right out of her life. The silence between us pressed down, heavy as stone.

Thinking back on these five years, every time I tried to get close to her, she prayed. When she got too friendly with other men, she prayed. I told myself she was just devoted, that I must be imagining things.

I remembered the awkward silences at dinner, the way she’d dodge my questions, the late-night calls she said were for Bible study. I’d wanted to believe her so badly.

But in the end, she prayed herself right into another man's arms.

That realization hit me like a bucket of cold water poured down my back. I clenched my fists, knuckles white. My breath came ragged.

The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I ripped her beads off.

They snapped, beads bouncing and scattering across the hardwood. For a second, she looked as stunned as I felt.

"You fast and pray, but you broke your vows by sleeping with another man. What's the point of all this?"

My voice was hoarse, words tumbling out. I wanted her to feel what I felt. I wanted her to hurt.

She stared at me, shocked. "Evan Porter, are you crazy? How dare you yell at me!"

Her voice shook, but her eyes were burning. She dropped to her knees, scrambling for the beads, hands trembling.

She snatched up the beads, frantic. "Carter got those for me at a revival. They cost a fortune."

She cradled them in her palms like they were holy relics. Her voice cracked, and for a second, I saw the scared girl she used to be.

The cross necklace I gave her—she tossed it aside like it was nothing. But those cheap beads from Carter? She guarded them like they were the Hope Diamond.

I remembered the day I gave her that cross, how I’d carved it from cherry wood, sanding every edge smooth. She barely glanced at it. But these beads—she clung to them like a lifeline.

I grabbed her wrist, made her meet my eyes.

My grip was tight, but I forced myself to be gentle. I needed her to see me—really see me.

"Marissa, open your eyes. Those beads he gave you? Ten-dollar junk from a street vendor."

I pulled out my phone, showed her the same beads on Amazon. "You can buy them online for less than a pizza."

"The cross I made for you by hand, prayed over for a hundred days—people would do anything for it. But you left it in a drawer to gather dust."

I remembered the nights I’d stayed up, whispering prayers over every inch of wood, hoping it would bring her peace. She never even wore it.

She looked even angrier than I was.

Her face twisted, lips pulled thin, eyes flashing. She yanked her wrist away, standing up tall.

"Evan Porter, look at your status compared to Carter's."

She spat the words like venom, as if just standing there was something I should be ashamed of.

"You tricked my grandfather into marrying me off to you—what skills do you really have?"

Her words cut deeper than any slap. I swallowed, refusing to let her see me flinch.

"But Carter is a child of fortune, a chosen one. Ever since I got together with him, my luck has turned around."

She sounded convinced—like she’d finally found her golden ticket out. I wanted to scream at her, make her see the truth.

Please. Since when did I need a 'golden boy' like him?

I almost laughed. Carter Lee, a child of fortune? The guy couldn’t even keep his own business afloat without handouts.

Besides, she was born unlucky. If it weren’t for Grandpa Langley’s kindness to my parents—and my own weakness for her beauty—I never would’ve spent five years using everything I had to shield her from her fate. Without me, she’d have been doomed.

I’d watched the darkness follow her, the string of bad luck. I tried to carry it for her. Now she was handing it off to a con artist.

Now she was giving him all the credit, even cheating on me with him.

It was almost funny—if it didn’t hurt so much. She was rewriting history right in front of me, and there was nothing I could do.

I tried to explain, but she didn’t let me finish.

She raised a hand, palm out, dismissing me like a child. "Enough, Evan."

"Evan, stop lying to me. I'm not like Grandpa, old and confused. I don't buy any of that 'the world is full of predators' stuff."

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. Her faith in Carter was absolute. Blind.

"Just behave and be generous. Carter will help take care of me, but he won't take your place."

She said it like she was offering me a runner-up prize. My stomach turned.

She got more and more excited, even grabbing my hand and pressing it to her belly.

Her hand was warm, grip desperate. I could feel the life inside her—a stranger’s child. It twisted something deep inside me.

"Come on, you're my husband in name. When the baby is born, he'll call you Dad."

She smiled, like she was doing me a favor. The world spun. I tried to pull away, but she held on tight.

"Stop sulking. If it makes you feel better, I can sleep with you too and give you a child of your own."

My stomach churned. She made it sound like charity, like tossing scraps to a stray dog.

What should have been normal between husband and wife—she made it sound like a favor.

I stared at her, at the woman I’d loved for so long, and felt grief wash over me. When had we become strangers?

I closed my eyes, steeling myself. "Marissa, abort the baby, and we can go on like before."

"Or we get divorced, and you can be with him."

My voice was barely above a whisper.

She rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed. "Evan Porter, you think I'm doing you a favor?"

She folded her arms, jaw set. She was done pretending.

"You live in my house, eat our food, use our money, and now you want to boss me around?"

She ticked off my supposed sins one by one, like a prosecutor building a case.

"I won't divorce, and I won't get rid of the baby."

She turned away, her back stiff as a board. She was done talking.

Seeing my face, she finally softened her tone a little.

She looked at me, her voice softer, almost pleading. "Honey, can't we just go on like before?"

Her eyes searched mine, looking for the man who used to forgive her everything. But that man was gone.

Before, I trusted her too much and never saw through her affair. Now, she wanted me to play dumb, pretend nothing happened, just to keep up appearances?

I pictured myself at family dinners, smiling next to her and Carter, everyone whispering behind my back. I couldn’t do it—not anymore.

Sorry, I can't do it.

The words echoed in my mind. I had to get out before I lost myself completely.

Besides, letting someone like me stay around a woman with her kind of luck, with another man in the mix? She wouldn’t survive it.

I knew what followed her, the darkness that clung to her. If she thought Carter could save her, she was dead wrong.