The Luck Thieves
For a decade, my world had been measured in laundry cycles, grocery lists, and the ever-growing pile of dishes in the sink.
I was elbow-deep in soapy water, scrubbing the remnants of another family meal, when it happened. A sudden, silent cascade of text flickered at the edge of my vision, like subtitles for a movie only I could see:
[Gosh, the heroine is so tragic. Her husband's entire family has been feeding on her luck like parasites!]
[Her husband stole her graduate school admission and her career!]
[The in-laws are literally siphoning her health away. No wonder she's always sick.]
[And the sister-in-law took her "romance" stat! No wonder her love life is a desert.]
[Heads up! Her husband's about to give her another "gift." Let's see how much more he takes from her this time.]
My hands, clutching a greasy plate, froze.
Right on cue, my husband, Tristan, sauntered into the kitchen. A smug, self-satisfied smile was plastered on his face as he took my wet hand. He slid a flimsy, garishly colored plastic bracelet onto my wrist.
"Look what I got for you, sweetheart," he announced, his voice dripping with pride. "I made a special trip after work. Found it at the dollar store. It's romantic and economical, just like you always say you want. You love it, don't you?"