On the first night of our wedding, my father-in-law told me to lie down between him and my husband because of a “lucky boy” tradition — and at exactly three in the morning, I felt something that made my whole body go cold.
Our wedding day had been perfect from the outside — flowers, music, smiling relatives, and a future that looked bright. But behind my smile was exhaustion. I just wanted to reach our room, take off the heavy dress, and finally breathe.
When my husband and I entered the bridal room, the soft glow of the bedside lamps made everything feel warm and intimate. I thought we would finally have a moment to ourselves.“Dad…” he said gently, “it’s okay. It’s tradition. A lucky elder sleeps between the newlyweds on the first night to bless them with a son. My grandfather did it. It’s normal.”
Normal.
The word stabbed me like a needle.
I forced a smile — the kind a bride is expected to give — but on the inside, something cracked.
My father-in-law settled himself between us, lying stiffly like a guard. I stayed at the very edge of the mattress, my back barely touching the bed. The blanket didn’t even reach my shoulders.
The room felt suffocating.
Each breath felt stolen.
