Gambling My Destiny With My Baby

Outside the ICU, my husband was using my mothers 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. Youve always been blessed with good fortune. If you lose this game, youre 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.

"Shes playing," he declared.

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

Mama, play her.

Im the god of gamblers reborn. Lets 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 Fredas 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, its just her time. Dont stand in the way of someone who actually has a future."

Freda clung to Zachs 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 Ill 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 mothers 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.

For the second round, the stakes were my Rolls-Royce.

Freda shook the cup with practiced ease, letting it drop and lifting it to reveal two sixes and a five. Seventeen.

The cheering from the peanut gallery was instantaneous. Tammy squealed, "See that? Even God is on Freda's side!"

Beatrice spat a mint wrapper onto the floor. "Look at her luck, then look at yours. Useless."

I picked up the cup in silence. The voice returned.

Mama, tilt your wrist half an inch to the left. Keep losing.

I followed the instruction exactly. The dice rolled out: two twos and a three. Seven.

For the third round, we played for my thirty percent share in the family company.

Freda rolled a sixteen. I rolled a miserable five.

Three consecutive losses.

The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed hummily, casting a sickly glow over the corridor. The red "In Surgery" light above the ICU doors continued to blink ominously.

Zach smiled with absolute triumph, pushing the remaining stack of transfer documents toward me. "Dale, even the universe has abandoned you. How did you think you could ever beat Freda? Sign the papers. Don't ruin Freda's lucky hour."

My fingers shook so violently I could barely hold the pen. Tears spilled over my eyelashes, leaving dark, wet circles on the crisp white paper.

Beatrice leaned over, pointing a finger at my face. "Stop crying, you bad omen! Just sign the damn papers!"

"Exactly," Tammy chimed in. "You played the game. Your mother is waiting in there; she doesn't have time for your tears."

I bit my lip until I tasted blood, forcing myself to press my thumbprint onto each document in dark red ink. I looked like a broken, desperate woman, sweating and frantic.

Only I knew it was an act.

Inside my mind, the babys voice was as steady as a mountain.

Good job, Mama. Hang in there. He's holding Grandmother's surgical consent form. If we fight him now, hell pull the plug. We have to make this a legally binding game, letting him stick his own neck into the noose we've built.

I took a deep breath, pushing the signed papers back across the table.

Zach picked them up, flicking the edges with a satisfied smirk before handing them to a bodyguard.

Just then, his phone lit up on the corner of the table. A text preview popped up: Mr. King, the rent on your luxury apartment in the Hamptons is past due. Please remit payment immediately...

I caught the message out of the corner of my eye and quickly looked away, pretending I hadn't seen a thing.

Zach hastily flipped his phone face down, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. He forced a smile, adjusting his cuffs. "Alright. The first three rounds are settled." He stood up, looking down at me. "Now, Dale, there's only one round left."

"We play for your health and your life force."

"If you win, I sign your mother's consent form immediately."

"If you lose, you leave this marriage with nothing, and you spend the rest of your life as Freda's personal human battery."

I stared at the red ink on my fingers, my nails digging into my palms. "Aren't you afraid of karma?" My voice was so raspy it was barely a whisper.

Zach threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing off the sterile walls. "Karma? In this family, I am the law!" He leaned down, placing both hands flat on the table, bringing his face inches from mine. "Dale, if you're scared, get down on your knees and beg. Maybe I'll be merciful enough to let you see your mother's corpse one last time."

Freda slid her arm through his, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Dale, you have nothing left to lose anyway. This is the final round. Are you in, or are you out?"

I pushed myself up from the table, grabbing the last blank agreement and slamming it back down.

"Zachary!" I screamed, my voice cracking, my eyes bloodshot. I gripped the edges of the paper until my knuckles turned white, playing the part of a manic, ruined gambler perfectly. "You're pushing me to the edge! Aren't you afraid of what I'll do to you when this is over?"

Zach laughed so hard he practically doubled over. He leaned in close to my ear, his breath hot and unpleasant. "What are you going to do to me, Dale? Ive spent months preparing for this. I have your corporate seals. I have your lawyers. You are a queen without a kingdom. You can't touch me."

He stepped back, spreading his arms wide, looking every bit the cheap pretender trying to play king. "Face it, Dale. You were born to be stepped on by me."

Staring at his arrogant face, the trembling in my shoulders slowly stopped. I let a slow, cold smile creep onto my face.

"Fine," I said, my voice suddenly dropping its frantic pitch. "If we're playing for everything, let's raise the stakes."

I pointed a finger at his chest, my voice carrying down the quiet hallway. "If I win, you sign the surgical consent form immediately."

"And more than that..."

"Every single asset, stock, and penny belonging to you and the entire King family becomes mine. You leave this marriage with absolutely nothing."

The corridor fell dead silent for a full second.

Beatrice and Tammy froze, then burst into hysterical laughter.

Beatrice slapped her thigh. "Oh, this is rich! Is this bitch insane? She actually thinks she has a chance to turn this around?"

Tammy crossed her arms, sneering. "A three-time loser begging for a miracle. You want our family assets? Dream on, loser!"

Freda hid her smirk behind a manicured hand. "Dale, why make this harder on yourself? Just accept your fate."

Zach finished laughing and snapped his fingers. "Fine! I'll give you exactly what you want!" He shouted toward the elevators. "Mr. Davis! Get over here!"

A man in a sharp suit, carrying a leather briefcase, hurried out from behind the bodyguards.

Zach pointed at me, his voice booming. "Draft an ironclad contract! Put every single condition she just mentioned into it! I want to watch her sign her own death warrant!"

Mr. Davis opened his laptop immediately, his fingers flying across the keyboard. Within minutes, a portable printer spat out two copies of the ultimate high-stakes agreement.

It was stark, cruel, and legally binding.

Zach didn't even read it. He grabbed a pen, signed his name, and pressed his thumbprint onto the paper with aggressive satisfaction. "Your turn, Dale."

He threw the pen at me. His eyes were wide, bloodshot with greed, his face twisted in anticipation.

I picked up the pen.

My hand didn't shake.

Stroke by stroke, I signed my name.

The notary stamp fell with a heavy, definitive thud.

Suddenly, the frantic energy in the corridor shifted. My shoulders straightened. My spine went rigid. I looked up at Zach.

My gaze wasn't filled with hatred, or fear. It was the detached, clinical look of a medical examiner preparing to pull back a white sheet in a morgue.

Zach flinched under my gaze, his throat bobbing as his brow furrowed. "What... what are you looking at me like that for? Stop playing games!"

I ignored his outburst, carefully folding my copy of the notarized agreement and tucking it securely into my inner coat pocket.

The act was over. The fish had taken the bait.

"Cut the crap," I said, my voice cold and steady. "Let's roll."

Freda eagerly grabbed the leather cup, her eyes shining with manic excitement.

The final round was on.

Freda held the cup with both hands, her eyes wide as she shook it frantically. The rattling of the dice inside was sharp, chaotic, and deafening.

Behind us, the red light of the operating room cast a thin, bloody line across the linoleum floor.

With a loud crack, Freda slammed the cup onto the table. Panting, her eyes locked onto mine, she lifted the cover.

Three sixes.

Eighteen.

The silence lasted for two seconds before the hallway erupted.

Tammy jumped in the air. "A perfect roll! A perfect eighteen! Freda won!"

Beatrice clasped her hands together, looking up at the ceiling tiles. "Thank God! Were rich! Were finally rich!"

The relatives swarmed Zach and Freda, showering them with congratulations, looking ready to bow down to them.

At the peak of their celebration, the heavy doors of the operating suite swung open. A nurse rushed out, holding a clipboard, her voice frantic. "Where is the patient's family? The ICU copay still hasn't been cleared! If we don't start the transfusion now, she's going to crash!"

Through the open door, the rapid, high-pitched alarm of the heart monitor echoed into the hall.

Losing this round didn't just mean losing my money. It meant letting my mother die on the table.

Zach stood in front of the nurse, holding Freda close, a smug sneer on his face. "No need to rush, nurse. Someone is about to sign a DNR anyway."

Freda tilted her head, looking at my pale face with faux pity. "Thank you for the life force, Dale. Ill take good care of your health and your money." She smirked. "As for your mother... you might as well open your cup and start planning her funeral."

Tammy banged on the table. "Open it! Stop wasting time! An eighteen is on the board. Not even God can save you now!"

They were using my mothers dying moments to break me, pushing me into a corner. Behind me was my mothers fading heartbeat; in front of me was a pack of wolves waiting to tear me apart.

Listening to the rhythmic, desperate beeping of the hospital monitor, my face remained entirely blank.

In my mind, the baby let out a cold, childish snort.

An eighteen? How embarrassing. Mama, slam the cup.

I gripped the leather cup, my knuckles turning white.

The alarms, the screaming nurse, the mocking laughter of my in-laws all blurred into a chaotic, surreal noise. They looked at me like I was already dead, waiting for me to fall to my knees.

I lifted the cup high above my head, poured every ounce of my strength into my wrist, and slammed it down.

The impact rattled the entire corridor. Even the bodyguards at the end of the hall flinched. The folding table shook violently, its metal legs scraping sharply against the tile floor.

Zach jumped at the noise, but quickly recovered, letting out a dismissive laugh. "Slamming the table won't change the physics, Dale. What, did you think you could magically manifest a nineteen?"

"Lift the cup. Stop wasting our time."

I didn't say a word.

My fingers slowly loosened their grip on the leather. Under the watchful eyes of everyone in the hall, I pinched the rim of the cup and slowly lifted it.