Back in my hometown, there's a custom that pregnant women shouldn't attend weddings.
But my cousin didn't care. She insisted that I, five months pregnant and all, had to attend her wedding.
Worried it might bring bad luck, I refused, but she wouldn't stop pleading at my house.
She claimed it was a different era, and that only old-fashioned people still believed such things.
I had no choice but to go. Then, just three days after the wedding, she suddenly miscarried.
Her husband went mad with rage and drove his car into me and my husband as we crossed the road to go to my prenatal checkup.
After my husband and I died, my cousin threatened to kill herself unless my mother signed a letter of forgiveness.
She also promised that she and her husband would take care of my mother for the rest of her life.
Later, my cousin tricked my mother into giving up her house, leaving her to scavenge for a living on the streets.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my cousin had gone on and on inviting me to her wedding.
I glared at her, my teeth clenched with hatred, then smiled and said:
"I'd better not. You're pregnant, and so am I. I wouldn't want to bring bad luck to your baby!"
