Chapter 1

On my wedding day, my dad suffered a stroke, my brother got into a car accident, and my mother blamed me for bringing bad luck to everyone on my wedding day. I lived with that guilt for seven years.

Then I accidentally saw their group chat. My fiancé, my family, and another woman were all standing together, with a banner overhead that read, “Happy Wedding!”

On my wedding day, Mom blew up the family group chat with one text: "Your dad just had a massive stroke. So what's it gonna be — Daddy or the groom?"

My mind went blank. I bolted downstairs.

Blake was waiting in the car. He smirked. "Wow. Didn't think you had a brain cell left."

Before I could respond, a delivery truck came barreling around the corner and slammed right into us.

The last thing I saw before everything went black was my brother throwing himself over me. Shielding me with his own body.

A steel rod went straight through his leg. He'd walk with a limp for the rest of his life.

Mom pointed at me, her finger shaking. "This is YOUR fault. Your cursed wedding brought this on all of us!"

I pressed my hand against my stomach. Flat. Empty.

I didn't argue.

Not until I got a phone call — from seven years in the future. From Selina Cross. Nolan's forever-girl. The one he never got over.

"Your dad's stroke? Fake. Your brother's limp? Also fake." She laughed. "The only real thing was your miscarriage."

"Nolan arranged that crash. And you actually believed it was an accident. You were so scared you never even tried to reschedule the wedding."

"Since you didn't have the guts — I stepped up. Wanna see? Isn't my dress gorgeous?"

The photo loaded.

In the background — neat as a family portrait — stood my mom, my dad, and my brother. All smiles.

And Nolan was kneeling in front of her, gently smoothing out the train of her gown.

My whole body locked up.

I looked up. Nolan was sitting across from me, eyes red and swollen. He'd cried so many times over losing the baby.

I smiled.

"Do you even remember what we were going to name the baby?"

His face went pale. Panic flickered across his eyes.

A baby that was never meant to be born — why would he bother remembering?

Fine. Then I won't bother reminding him.

He lunged forward and grabbed my hand.

"Of course I remember. It's Lucky. Lucky, right?"

Lucky. A name full of hope. Full of happiness.

I'd flipped through every baby name book. Nothing felt right. He was the one who suggested it.

He'd said, "With this baby, our whole family's gonna be happy."

But in the video future-Selina sent me —

It was my dad walking her down the aisle.

It was my mom beaming on stage, giving a toast.

It was my brother, eyes red, grabbing Nolan by the collar: "If you ever hurt her, I swear to God, I'll end you."

And Nolan smiled back.

"God already tried to end me first."

He was never the superstitious type. But there he was — swearing to the heavens. Not for me.

A grand, beautiful wedding. Every face glowing with joy.

Just — without me. And without my baby.

I smiled. Shoved the phone in his face.

"Still wanna lie?"

His pupils shrank. He opened his mouth to say something — but his phone started blowing up.

A group chat I'd never seen before.

Mom's message sat right on top:

"Hurry up and get over here. The baby's christening party can't happen without the father."

Then Dad — the man who supposedly couldn't move a finger — sent a sixty-second voice memo:

"I already set up a dummy in the hospital bed. Just send her over to babysit it."

And Blake. My own brother.

"If I'd known she'd recover this fast, I should've hit her harder. Would've saved us the trouble."

Tears shot out before I could stop them.

When my baby died — they were throwing a party for someone else's.

I did the math. Three months apart. That's it.

All those nights I lay there, pregnant, back aching, legs swollen, telling myself he was just busy with work — he was rubbing another woman's feet.

Ten prenatal checkups he missed. He wasn't "too busy." He was at another woman's ultrasound appointments.

"Why did you lie to me?"

If you didn't love me anymore, just say it. I would've let you go.

He pulled his hand back. He thought I'd just now found out.

His voice was steady. Almost mocking.

"You're just saying that because you're upset."

"If I actually told you the truth, could you handle it?"

Ten years flashed before my eyes.

He flunked his SATs. I retook senior year with him.

He started a company. I emptied my savings account to fund it.

Everyone called me a lovesick idiot. A fool throwing her life away for a man.

But he told me, "I'm not good with pretty words. But I'll never do you wrong."

And I believed him.

My silence — he took it as surrender.

He wiped my tears with his thumb.

"Okay, okay. Stop saying things you don't mean."

"I'll be back soon. I'll bring your favorite takeout."

His footsteps were rushed as he walked out.

I threw off the covers and followed him.

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