Chapter 2: The Wedding Pact

Ms. Rachel hustled me into her old Subaru and sped through the neighborhoods to the Mason’s stately house—American flags waving in the warm summer breeze, the porch swing empty for once.

Behind a privacy screen, I caught a glimpse of Alex—a fragile outline, shoulders hunched, coughing with that soft, hollow sound that made your own chest ache just to hear it.

Grandma Carol was in tears, clutching Ms. Rachel’s hand tight. “Rachel, you’ve done so much for Alex. Now that he’s awake, there’s no need for any symbolic wedding. I can’t thank you enough.”

Ms. Rachel’s eyes darted, a calculating spark glinting. “Aunt Carol, I think we should still go through with the marriage.”

“Wh-why?” Grandma Carol’s voice was small.

“Maybe Jenny’s just what he needs—her presence brought him back. He woke up as soon as we set the engagement. If we go ahead with the wedding, it might just be the luck he needs for a full recovery—a bright future.”

Grandma Carol hesitated, her gaze lingering on my nervous hands twisting the hem of my dress.

Just then, a doctor in blue scrubs stepped out, clipboard in hand.

He cleared his throat, nerves obvious. “Ma’am, about the Captain…”

“There’s no outsiders here, Doc. Just say it.”

The doctor swallowed. “The Captain’s awake, but his injury… he was shot in the upper thigh. I’m afraid he won’t be able to…”

“Unable to what?” Ms. Rachel pressed, more anxious than the rest of us.

The doctor coughed, cheeks red. “Consummate the marriage.”

Grandma Carol swayed, her knees nearly buckling. I jumped up to steady her, feeling the tremor run through her bones.

She looked at me, grief and apology in her eyes, red-rimmed from crying. “Sweetheart, would you still marry him? I won’t treat you badly. You can just be my daughter if you want.”

Ms. Rachel cut in before I could answer: “Of course she’s willing! Her status will go from housekeeper’s ward to a member of the Masons—why wouldn’t she?”

I was too stunned to speak.

Once upon a time, I’d been born into a respectable family too.

My father was a doctor—a gentle man, fathering me by his second wife. I lost him early, but he never let me feel unloved.

When he died, my stepmother swooped in like a vulture. She tried to grab every bit of inheritance, plotting to ship the stepdaughters off to foster care or worse—God knows what she had planned.

The night before social services was to show up, I trudged across the block to plead with Sam, the poor college kid I’d brought grilled cheese sandwiches and mac and cheese to for years.

He’d just passed his law school exams, but he barely cracked the door.

He kept the chain on, his voice cold. “Jenny, I’m engaged to the Dean’s daughter. We can’t be alone together. Here—this is to pay you back for all those meals.”

A wad of bills hit the porch, fluttering to my feet. The smell of someone grilling burgers drifted over from a neighbor’s backyard. I just stood there, heart aching, too numb to cry.

Later, I ended up shouting at my stepmother on the curb—words flying, neighbors peeking through their blinds. She threatened to send me to a group home if I didn’t shape up.

By pure luck, the Dean’s wife drove by, rolled down her window, and offered me a job as her housekeeper right there on the spot.

Not long after, Sam became Ms. Rachel’s husband. I swallowed my pride and worked for her, pretending I’d never met him. But secrets have a way of leaking out.

After that, I stopped fighting fate.

I smoothed my dress, knelt before Grandma Carol, and spoke steady and clear: “Ma’am, I’m willing to marry Captain Mason, bring him luck, and look after you in your old age.”