I Cursed My Wife After She Let My Father Die

Alex’s POV

I loved the wrong woman. And I paid for it.

I swallowed my pride and moved into the Weston estate because Denise couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her family. Let the whispers spread. Let the world think I was some trophy son-in-law with no backbone.

And because of one offhand comment she made about staying child-free, I went through with a vasectomy.

Yeah. I actually did that.

Whether the curse is real or just a damn coincidence, we’ll find out in three days.

At the wedding, the ballroom applauded as Denise stepped onto the crystal staircase, arm locked with Sean’s like they were the second coming of royalty.

The music swelled. Lights glittered off chandeliers. Cameras flashed. And step by step, they started their little descent into hell.

Then it happened.

Her smile twisted, and her body buckled. Her legs gave out, and she tumbled.

Denise didn’t just trip. She collapsed like someone yanked the strings clean out of her.

She slammed into the floor at the bottom, hard, screaming in pain, both hands clutched around her stomach.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. “Did she lose the baby?!”

Someone rushed over, lifted the hem of her dress, then staggered back like they’d seen a ghost.

“Blood… there’s so much blood!”

Panic hit like a bomb. People screaming, shoving. The wedding unraveled in seconds. Denise got rushed to the hospital, and the whole thing ended in chaos.

But the Blackwell curse?

That was just getting started.

I looked up at Sean, still frozen at the top of the stairs.

He had a chance to catch her. I saw it—hell, everyone saw it.

But when she reached for him, his instincts kicked in. And he let go. Worse, he shoved her off to save his skin.

Then I heard his voice behind me, all bark and panic.

“Alex, was this your doing?!”

I didn’t even turn and just kept walking. Let him scream.

...

Later, once Denise woke up, she sent someone to drag me into her hospital room.

She didn’t waste time.

“Alex,” she snapped, “you think making me lose my baby will convince me your family curse is real? That I’ll suddenly believe you?”

I stared at her, voice flat. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Sean stood beside her, face burning red, fists clenched like he was holding back from punching a wall.

“Don’t play dumb,” he snapped. “I had someone look into it. One of the guests saw you! You drugged her water. That’s why she couldn’t feel her legs. You planned it so she’d fall and lose the baby. She almost died!”

He shook, his voice cracked, and his eyes were rimmed red as if he hadn’t slept in days.

“It’s my fault, too. I froze. I didn’t catch her…”

Then he turned to Denise, his voice dropping like a kicked dog. “Denise, I’m sorry. I let you down.”

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, soft like he was a kid who scraped his knee.

“Sean, I don’t blame you. It happened too fast.”

Then her eyes cut to me, and every ounce of warmth she had for him vanished.

“Alex,” she said cold as ice, “you killed my child. Life for a life. That’s how it should be. But don’t worry, I won’t kill you. I’m cutting off the meds your father depends on. Let’s see if watching him rot teaches you a lesson.”

My chest locked up. Breath caught somewhere between a shout and a choke.

“No! Denise, don’t. If you’re pissed, come at me. Not him. He’s in that coma because he threw himself in front of you. You do this, and he might never wake up.”

She stared at me coldly.

“Don’t try to guilt-trip me, Alex. You ruined my wedding and killed my baby.”

I pulled a folder from my bag. Inside were freshly printed divorce papers. I unfolded them and laid them out on the bedside table.

“It’s the curse. I’ve told you—if you divorce me, this ends.”

Denise let out a sharp, bitter laugh. Then she ripped the papers to shreds, eyes locked on mine.

“Alex, do you think I’m stupid enough to fall for that again? Still clinging to your family’s spooky bedtime story? You want a divorce? Not happening.”

She turned to her staff, her voice as cold as the tile floor. “Take him back to the mansion. Lock him up. And this time, don’t let him out without my say-so.”

...

They dragged me back.

Same room. Same cold concrete walls.

I slammed my fists against the door until the skin split.

“Open up! I need to see Denise!”

“I need to get to my dad. Tell me what it takes—money, power, I don’t care. Just open the damn door!”

One of the guards peeked in, face like stone. “Mr. Blackwell, don’t make this harder than it should be.”

So I screamed for three days straight. My voice cracked. My hands turned raw and bloody.

Hope bled out slowly, drop by drop.

Then, finally, the door creaked open. Denise stood there like nothing had happened.

“It’s Grandfather’s 80th,” she said. “You’re coming. This time, keep it together. No more drama.”

Alex’s POV

“Get him cleaned up. We leave in half an hour.”

The moment I received my phone back, I turned it on.

The screen lit up, revealing dozens of missed calls from the hospital.

My thumb trembled as I hit redial.

“Mr. Blackwell,” the nurse’s voice came through, panicked. “Why are you only just answering? Your father passed away last night…”

Everything after that was a blur.

It felt like I was walking underwater. People were speaking, hands were on my shoulders, and someone was handing me clothes.

None of it registered with me.

Next thing I knew, I was standing outside.

And there she was.

Denise, sitting in the car I bought for her. Arms around Sean like nothing had happened. Her window rolled down just long enough for her to throw a look at me, cold, detached.

“This car’s full,” she said, like I wasn't her husband. “You can take another one.”

She didn’t wait for a response and waved at the driver.

And they drove off.

I stood there, staring down at my phone. The hospital had just sent me my father’s death certificate.

And whatever grief I had left in me got buried by something darker.

Something solid.

Hatred.

Then it happened.

An eighteen-wheeler came screaming around the corner—tires shrieking, engine howling—completely out of control.