Chapter 3: The Bride's Gambit

I dragged my husband up, shoved him at my brother, sat at the card table, and declared, "Anyone who played with my husband just now, you can’t leave. If you leave, the debt’s cleared and I won’t pay a cent. The game ends when the loser says so—if the winner tries to leave halfway, you return the winnings."

My voice rang out, strong and clear. Even the boldest hesitated.

Those were the unspoken rules of the card room—no one could argue.

Everyone knew the code: finish what you start or walk away with nothing. Heads nodded, grudgingly.

"So... we continue?" Uncle Dave looked at Aunt Linda.

He raised his eyebrows, half-challenging, half-curious.

"You’re really stubborn," Aunt Linda muttered, sitting down.

She grumbled under her breath, but her eyes were sharp. It was a battle now.

"Then I’ll play with you," Uncle Dave said, sliding into his chair, cracking his knuckles. The crowd pressed in, hungry for the showdown.

"Alright, we have time anyway," said Tyler. Great-uncle Frank and Big John all took their seats.

Chairs scraped across linoleum. The room felt both tiny and infinite.

"Uncle Dave, what’s the game?" I asked, voice cold and steady.

"Three cards. Three of a kind is highest, then straight flush, flush, straight, pair, and single card is lowest."

He recited the rules, like it was just another Friday night. Tyler nodded, tapping his chips.

"Who’s the banker?"

"Winner is banker."

Oldest rule there is. I nodded tight.

"Then I’ll start."

I reached for the deck, hands only shaking a little. The crowd pressed in, holding their breath.

I picked up the cards. Ordinary, a bit worn—no marks, no tricks.

I ran my thumb along the edges, memorizing every nick. Years of practice flashed through my mind.

Even so, my husband lost three eighty. I couldn’t help but curse him as a pig inside.

I shot him a glare where he slumped against my brother’s shoulder. If we survived this, he’d owe me big—mac and cheese for a year.

I shuffled the deck awkwardly, fumbled a card—let them underestimate me. Aunt Linda snickered.

Uncle Dave reminded, "Banker must bet."

He tapped the table with two fingers, hurrying me along.

Aunt Linda added, "That means the banker bets first."

She said it loud for the crowd, making sure no one forgot the pecking order.

"Ten thousand."

I tossed out a chip.

It clinked on the table, echoing like a gunshot. Someone whistled. The stakes had never been higher.

Uncle Frank locked the door. The air grew tight, final.

The deadbolt clicked—final, absolute. Even the youngest cousins held their breath, eyes wide.

Some people rubbed their hands, some hid excitement, some dreamed of riches, some just watched. Everyone was gathered in this one room.

It was like a movie—half the town crammed together, all hoping for a piece of the action, or just a story for Monday.

I never thought on my wedding day I’d be at the card table, fighting for my future, surrounded by the very people meant to love me most.

Luckily, none of them knew what I’d really been doing all those years away from home.

I let a sly smile curl at my lips, just for me. Nobody suspects the bride. Not in small-town Ohio. Not in her own family basement.

I shuffled the cards, met Uncle Dave’s eyes, and smiled. Let’s see who really gets played tonight.