“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.
Minutes passed like hours.
Then he began adjusting my sleeping position — pulling the blanket over me, straightening my pillow, nudging my arm and hips as if I were a piece of furniture that needed aligning for the ritual.
I froze, terrified to move but unable to stay still.
His fingers brushed my shoulder again.
