On Christmas Eve, My Husband Gambled Me Away

The lamb came out perfect. Golden skin, crisp at the edges, the kind of roast that takes hours and actually means something. I set it on the counter and stepped back, wiping my hands on the towel. The kitchen smelled like rosemary and garlic. The dining table had candles. I'd even put out the good plates, the ones we got as wedding gifts and never used.

Six months pregnant, and I'd been on my feet since morning. My back ached. My ankles were swollen. But I didn't care. It was Christmas Eve. Our last one before the baby came. I wanted it to be perfect.

Colby had left around noon. Said he was meeting a friend. I didn't ask questions. I trusted him. I always trusted him.

I carried the lamb to the dining room, smiling to myself. The nursery was freshly painted. Soft yellow walls. A crib we'd assembled together last weekend. Everything was coming together. Everything was exactly how I'd always dreamed it would be.

I pushed open the door.

And stopped.

Colby sat at the head of the table. Not alone. Sofia Vasquez was across from him, leaning back in her chair like she owned the place. Between them, poker chips. Stacks of them. Red, blue, black. Cards spread across the table. My Christmas dinner shoved to one end, the candles I'd lit earlier snuffed out.

I stood there holding the lamb. Still hot. Heavy in my hands.

Colby glanced up. No surprise on his face. No guilt. Just a flat, empty look.

'Oh,' I said quietly. 'You're back.'

Sofia smiled. Bright. Sharp. Her hand rested on her belly. She was pregnant too. About four months, maybe. I knew because Colby had mentioned it last week. His childhood friend. His best friend. I'd never thought much about it.

'Hey, Raegan,' Sofia said. Her voice was light. Friendly. 'Smells amazing.'

I looked at the table. At the chips. At the cards. At my husband's face.

'What's going on?' I asked.

Colby straightened his cuffs. Slow. Deliberate. Like he was getting ready for a business meeting.

'We were playing,' he said. 'Just a few hands.'

I set the lamb down on the sideboard. My hands were shaking a little. I didn't know why yet.

'Okay,' I said. 'That's fine. Let me just clear this so we can eat—'

'Actually,' Colby said, 'we need to talk.'

I turned. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at the chips.

'I lost some money,' he said. 'To Sofia.'

I blinked. 'How much?'

Sofia leaned forward. Her smile didn't move. 'Three hundred thousand.'

The room tilted. Just a little. Just enough that I had to put my hand on the back of a chair.

'What?' I whispered.

Colby still wasn't looking at me. 'The joint account. I used it. We played a few rounds. I thought I had it. I didn't.'

Three hundred thousand dollars. Our savings. Everything we'd put aside. Everything I'd contributed from the inheritance I told him about. Gone.

'Colby,' I said. My voice sounded far away. 'That's our money. That's for the baby. That's for—'

'I know.' He cut me off. Flat. Cold. 'I know what it's for.'

I looked at Sofia. She was watching me. Her eyes were bright. Amused.

'This is a joke,' I said. 'Right? You're joking.'

Sofia tilted her head. 'It's not a joke, sweetie. We played. He lost. That's how cards work.'

I felt something crack open inside my chest. Something cold.

'Colby,' I said again. Quieter now. 'Please tell me this isn't real.'

He finally looked at me. His face was blank. Empty. Like I was a stranger.

'It's real,' he said.

I stood there. Six months pregnant. In the apartment I'd cleaned all day. Next to the dinner I'd spent hours making. Staring at my husband. At his childhood friend. At the poker chips stacked between them.

Sofia leaned back in her chair. She touched her belly again. A small, deliberate gesture.

'You know,' she said lightly, 'if you're upset about the money, you could always try to win it back.' She gestured at the empty chair. 'It's just cards. Anyone can play.'

I looked at her. Really looked at her. At the smile. At the confidence. At the way she sat in my home like she belonged there.

Then I looked at Colby.

He straightened his cuffs again. 'Sit down, Raegan,' he said. 'Maybe you'll get lucky.'

There was no warmth in his voice. No apology. No love.

Just dismissal.

I looked at the cards on the table. At the cold dinner. At the candles I'd lit that were now just wax.

And I went very, very still.

That stillness—Beckett would have recognized it. He would have known what it meant. But Colby didn't know me. He never had.

I pulled out the chair.

And I sat down.