Lucky
The silver clink of cutlery against porcelain was the only sound filling Lucas’s dining room. Lunch had been laid out in neat, perfect dishes by the house staff, yet the atmosphere was anything but orderly.
Adelyn sat with her back straight, her dark hair falling over one shoulder, her fingers carefully tearing a piece of bread she hadn’t tasted yet. The voices around her—her future in-laws muttering in subdued tones—washed over like static. She heard them, of course, but she wasn’t listening.
Her mind kept circling back to Detective Mallory’s words. Gold digger. Harmless enough. Women like that always do. They replayed in her head, louder than the chatter, sharper than the scrape of a knife. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, trying to bury the sting, but it crawled under her skin anyway.
Across the table, Enid dabbed at her lips with a napkin and gave Adelyn a thin, cold smile. “You looked… perfectly fine today, dear,” she said lightly. “Almost as if your husband being in jail didn’t trouble you at all. Not a tear in sight.”
The table fell quiet.
Adelyn’s eyes lifted, dark and deliberate, fixing on her mother-in-law. Her jaw tightened as the bread tore sharply in her hands.
“I am allowed to grieve,” she said, her voice low but cutting, “in the way that feels right to me. Not in the way you—or anyone else—dictates.”
Enid’s smile faltered, and she reached for her wine glass instead of replying.
Adelyn finally took a bite, chewing slowly, almost defiantly. She didn’t care about appearances, not in this moment. Her grief—whatever shape it took—was hers to wield.
And no one at that table would forget it.
The courtroom air was heavy with judgment. Ethan sat rigid in his seat, shoulders drawn up like armor, his handsome face hollowed by sleepless nights. The prosecutor’s voice cut through the silence like a blade:
“Mr. Chambers has a history of violence. Bail would be reckless.”
But Henry Blake, Ethan’s lawyer, countered smoothly:
“My client is no fugitive. He is a family man, deeply rooted here, and committed to proving his innocence.”
From the gallery, Adelyn dabbed her eyes delicately with a handkerchief. Her dark hair fell in soft waves, her simple emerald-green blouse catching the courtroom lights. When Ethan glanced at her, she gave the smallest nod of conviction, as if lending him her strength.
After deliberation, the judge’s gavel fell:
“Bail is set at five million dollars. Passport surrendered. Travel restricted.”
Relief rippled through the Chambers family. Adelyn pressed her hand to her lips, eyes shimmering. Lucas reached toward her, but she barely noticed, her gaze fixed only on Ethan.
That evening, the Chambers’ temporary home felt less like exile. Adelyn moved through Lucas’s kitchen with calm determination, sleeves rolled up, bangles chiming softly as she stirred fragrant pots. The aroma of saffron rice, spiced vegetables, and warm naan bread spread through the house.
When she carried the platters to the table, Enid paused, surprised. “You cooked all this… yourself?”
Adelyn smiled modestly. “It’s the least I can do. We’ve all been through so much. Tonight, we sit together, as a family.”
The long dining table, usually stiff with formality, softened under her touch. Even Enid, who so rarely praised, admitted with a small smile, “It’s… wonderful, dear.”
For the first time in days, laughter and conversation flowed. Lucas watched in quiet awe as Adelyn leaned in to serve Enid, to refill Robert’s glass, to coax a weary smile from Ethan’s lips.
By the time dessert arrived — warm cardamom pudding that melted on the tongue — something had shifted. Gratitude. Warmth. Unity.
Adelyn had not just cooked a meal. She had mended a broken family’s spirit, if only for the night.
And though no one said it aloud, each of them knew: they were lucky to have her.