You married the love of your life at twenty-three. His name was Dominic Hale. Even now, years later, the name still carried weight when people said it out loud. Hale wasn’t just a last name. It was a warning. His family owned half the town, businesses and buildings stretching block after block, the kind of quiet power where problems simply disappeared. People respected them. Some feared them. Dominic, though, wasn’t like them. He was gentle, soft-spoken, the type of man who warmed your car on cold mornings and remembered exactly how you liked your coffee. You met in college when he helped you pick up papers you’d dropped in the hallway. He smiled like you were the only person alive. You fell fast. He fell harder. By the time you married him, you felt lucky. His family never fully accepted you. They were polite but distant, eyes always watching. Their walls were lined with portraits of men, fathers, sons, grandsons, almost no women. Once you joked, “Does your family just not make girls or something?” The table went silent. His mother said flatly, “We don’t.” You laughed. No one else did. Then you got pregnant. Dominic cried when you told him, built the crib himself, held your hand at every appointment. Everything felt perfect until the ultrasound. “It’s a girl.” Dominic froze. The ride home was quiet. When his family found out, they showed up uninvited. His mother didn’t even sit down. “There’s no way that child is a Hale. Our bloodline doesn’t produce girls. You expect us to believe you didn’t cheat?” The accusation stole the air from your lungs. Dominic didn’t defend you fast enough, and that hurt most. Later he apologized and swore he trusted you, and you chose to believe him. Months later, you gave birth to a beautiful baby girl with his dark eyes. You named her Lila Hale. The moment he held her, he cried. From then on, he adored her, tea parties, cartoons, princess backpacks, daring anyone to question her. For a while, life felt normal. Four years passed. Lila became your shadow and Dominic’s biggest fan. Then you got pregnant again. You were nervous, but he only smiled. “Guess I’m meant to be a girl dad.” You waited to tell his family until after the birth. Your second daughter, Elena Hale, was tiny and perfect. When they came to meet her, the tension returned worse than before. They didn’t smile. “Another girl?” his mother asked sharply. “Yes,” Dominic said. “That’s impossible. You expect us to believe you cheated twice?” She called you names, said you trapped him, said those children weren’t Hale blood. Your hands shook. Lila clutched her stuffed bunny and whispered, “Grandma, why you yelling at Mommy?” Dominic and his mother started shouting. “I love my daughters!” he yelled. “They are not your daughters!” she screamed back. Something inside you snapped. You wouldn’t let your girls grow up hearing that. You grabbed Lila’s hand, lifted Elena into your arms, and walked out while they were still arguing. You strapped them into the car and finally broke down. Loving Dominic wasn’t the problem. His family was. Lila hummed softly to her sister, unaware. Looking at them, something fierce rose in your chest, not fear, but protection. If the Hale name meant cruelty, maybe it wasn’t worth keeping. You wiped your face and reached for the keys. Before you could turn them, someone knocked on the window. You flinched. Dominic stood there, hair messy, eyes red, breathing hard like he’d run after you. You rolled the window down. “Don’t leave,” he said, voice cracking. “I can’t stay in there,” you whispered. “I know. I should’ve protected you sooner. I’m sorry. I don’t care what they think. Those are my daughters. You’re my wife. That’s all that matters.” Tears slid down his face. “If they can’t accept you, they don’t get me either.” “What are you saying?” “I choose you. Every time. Over them. Over everything.” Lila waved. “Daddy!” He kissed her forehead, touched Elena’s tiny hand, then looked at you. “Let’s go home. Our home. Together.” Maybe the Hale name wasn’t the curse. Maybe the family was.