Part 1Gambling My Destiny With My Baby

Outside the ICU, my husband was using my mother’s life-saving surgery deposit as a bargaining chip on a makeshift gambling table.

He had his arm wrapped protectively around his fragile mistress, rolling the dice as he sealed my ruin. Around us, my in-laws watched in silence, while my husband wore a mask of sickening piety.

"Dale, Freda has a fractured spiritual aura and a terminal diagnosis," he said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "The spiritual guru we consulted said her only chance at survival is to siphon-bind the vitality of someone with pure, abundant luck. You’ve always been blessed with good fortune. If you lose this game, you’re going to let the master perform the vitality transfer to save Freda."

He leaned in, his eyes cold. "One stage of the ritual will cost you a single year of your life, transferred directly to Freda to ward off her bad karma."

"Two stages," he continued, "and you will transfer your physical health and bodily vitality to her, leaving you weak but keeping her whole."

Freda Palmer leaned against his chest, a delicate, mocking smile playing on her lips.

"And if we light all three stages, Dale," she purred, her voice a fragile whisper, "your entire destiny, your wealth, and every remaining year of your life will be signed over to me. My broken, dying body will be sustained entirely by your life force. Tell me, Dale... to save my life, do you have the courage to play?"

Before I could choke out a desperate refusal, my husband grabbed my wrist and forced my thumb onto the ink pad, slamming it down on the contract.

"She’s playing," he declared.

As my heart turned to ash, a soft, tiny, childish voice suddenly echoed in my mind.

Mama, play her.

I’m the god of gamblers reborn. Let’s teach this trash bag of a father a lesson.

I instinctively placed a hand over my abdomen. Feeling the sudden warmth under my palm, I met the mocking stares of my in-laws, reached out, and gripped the three dice.

* * *

"Dale, the monitors in there aren't going to wait forever."

Zachary King held Freda Palmer by the waist, his voice thick with irritation.

I stared at the hospital billing slip crumpled near his polished leather shoes. "Using my mother's life to corner me, Zach? Just tell me what you actually want!"

Zach reached into the breast pocket of his bespoke suit and tossed a thick stack of documents onto the nurses' station counter. "Sign this. Voluntary Asset and Vitality Transfer Agreement."

On the very first page, in stark black and white, was the clause: I was to surrender every piece of my pre-marital real estate and all my shares in the family company. Furthermore, I would assume sole responsibility for all of Freda’s astronomical medical bills.

My sister-in-law, Tammy, sat in a plastic waiting room chair, popping cheap mints and scrolling through her phone. "Dale, Zach is doing you a favor. Freda is genuinely sick. Giving up a little money and luck to save a life is just good karma."

My mother-in-law, Beatrice, rolled her eyes, chiming in. "Exactly. Your mother is an old relic anyway. If she dies in there, it’s just her time. Don’t stand in the way of someone who actually has a future."

Freda clung to Zach’s chest, coughing delicately. Her eyes grew red and watery. "Dale, don't blame Zach. He just loves me too much; he can't bear to watch me suffer. If you sign the paper and lend me your luck, I swear I’ll never try to take your place as Zach's wife."

Zach rubbed her back soothingly, then glared at me. "You heard her. Freda is being more than generous. What are you waiting for? Sign it!"

He tapped his watch. "Your mother's oxygen saturation is dropping below fifty. The doctor was just out here looking for you. If you don't pay the deposit and sign the consent form now, you can start picking out her casket."

I looked at the man standing before me.

I remembered the winter nights he used to hold my freezing feet against his chest to warm them. I remembered him eating my leftovers, living like a loyal dog at my beck and call. Now, he was wearing a Tom Ford suit I had bought him, wearing a Patek Philippe I had gifted him, and using my mother’s dying breath to force me into becoming a human life-support machine for his mistress.

A warm, gentle thrum vibrated in my belly.

Mama, don't panic. Let's make him bet everything down to his skin.

The voice was tiny, childish, but incredibly steady. Far too steady for an unborn child.

I lowered my gaze to hide my eyes, my fingers tightening around the three cold dice. "Fine. We play." I looked up, coldness seeping into my tone. "But we sign these agreements page by page, one round at a time."

Zach scoffed, kicking the hospital bill aside. "Fine. Let's make sure you understand exactly how badly you're losing."

He snapped his fingers. Two of his hired bodyguards marched over, carrying a folding table and placing it squarely in the middle of the sterile hospital corridor.

Freda stepped forward, her movements graceful and fragile as she picked up the leather dice cup. "Dale, for the first round, let's play for the deed to your estate in Westbury."

She shook the cup casually and slammed it onto the table. The rattle of the dice was sharp and deafening in the quiet hallway.

Zach sat back in a plastic chair, crossing his legs like a king on a throne. He chin-jerked at the cup. "Open it."

The cup lifted. Three fives. Fifteen.

Tammy clapped her hands, laughing. "Oh, Freda! Your luck is incredible! A fifteen right out of the gate!"

Beatrice sneered at me. "Of course. Freda was born with a lucky aura. Unlike some people who bring nothing but poverty and misery wherever they go."

Freda giggled, sliding the cup toward me. "Your turn, Dale."

I picked up the heavy leather cup. Just as I was about to shake it, the childish voice rang out in my mind again, sharp and urgent.

Mama, the mistress's dice are loaded with mercury. She's a cheap cheat. But don't worry, your boy knows how to break her game. Stiffen your wrist and lose this one on purpose.

My hand paused for a fraction of a second. I let my wrist slip slightly, slamming the cup down awkwardly. The three dice tumbled out onto the table.

A two, a one, and another one.

Four.

An obnoxious burst of laughter erupted in the corridor.

Zach slapped the first property deed transfer in front of me and shoved a pen into my hand. "Sign, Dale. You played, you lost. Don't tell me you're going to back out now."

He tapped the table impatiently.

I gripped the pen, the nib hovering over the paper, trembling.