Third Person POV
It was already deep into the night when Carlos finally reached his apartment block. The streets were nearly empty, the silence broken only by his uneven footsteps as he wandered in slow, zigzagging lines. He had drunk a little too much, but it wasn't the alcohol that weighed him down—it was the crushing reality that he was about to lose his job and had no money left.
All of his savings had been drained by the endless remittances he sent to his sick sister back in the province. He was a dedicated police officer, but with his low rank and uncertain future, his monthly salary barely kept him afloat.
His phone suddenly vibrated inside his jacket. The world spun slightly, so he fumbled for it by touch alone.
Don't come in tomorrow. The Chief is arriving. You know how hot‑headed he is when it comes to you, read the message from his fellow officer.
Carlos clenched his fist in frustration.
"Just my damn luck!" he shouted into the empty street, stomping his foot like a madman before exhaustion forced him to stop. He took a deep breath and kept walking—until he realized something was wrong.
The road felt unfamiliar. He had no memory of turning this way.
A low growl from nearby dogs sent a chill through him, followed by a violent crack of thunder that tore across the sky. An inexplicable fear crept into his chest.
"Hijo…"
"Son of a—!" Carlos spun around when a voice suddenly spoke behind him. The shock sobered him instantly. An old woman now stood there, smiling.
"Hijo," she called again.
Despite the goosebumps crawling up his arms, Carlos forced himself to step closer.
"Grandma, you shouldn't sneak up on people like that. What are you doing out here at this hour?"
Without answering, the old woman grabbed his arm and dragged him toward a small flower shop nearby. He barely had time to protest before she pulled him inside.
"Wait—" he began, but she had already let go and hurried toward the only door inside. Moments later she returned, holding a small red box.
Her smile was impossibly wide as she approached him.
"Grandma, I really should be going—"
"Just a moment, hijo. Take this."
Carlos frowned as he looked inside the box.
"A wedding ring?" he murmured.
"It's yours," the old woman said, pressing the box into his hands.
"Wait, what? Why would I need this? I've been single my whole life."
Her smile only grew wider.
"Put it on. She's been waiting for you."
"…What? Who has?"
"Elena. Your wife. She's been waiting for you for a very long time."
"That's impossible." He shoved the box back into her hands. "You've got the wrong person. I don't have a wife, and I don't know anyone named Elena. I'm leaving."
He had barely turned when she spoke again.
"Then buy it from me."
Annoyed, Carlos scratched his head. "Grandma, I don't even have a peso on me. I'm having the worst luck right now, so please—"
"Then all the more reason you need it," she said softly. "Believe me. This will bring you luck for the rest of your life."
"I told you, I don't have any—"
"There's no more time," she interrupted, glancing at the shop's glass window where the full moon shone brightly.
"Take it. Luck will come to you once you do."
Against his better judgment, Carlos accepted the red box and opened it.
"Put it on."
With a tired sigh, he slipped the ring onto his finger.
A sharp sting made him gasp. The metal cut into his skin, drawing a thin line of blood. When he looked up, the old woman was smiling wider than ever.
"Thank you," she said.
Then she turned away and vanished into the darkness, leaving Carlos standing alone. It took several seconds for reality to catch up with him. Shaking his head, he rushed out of the flower shop.
As he walked, he wondered why he had taken the ring at all.
"Damn it… what rotten luck," he muttered.
Faint light began creeping into the sky—dawn was approaching. He studied the ring, which looked strangely ancient, like something once worn by kings and queens long ago. The design was old-fashioned and unsettling. He didn't like it at all.
He tried to take it off.
A sudden icy breath brushed against his neck.
His skin prickled.
"My husband…"
"Shit!" He spun around, but the street was empty. "I must be drunk," he muttered, forcing himself to walk—until something cold grabbed both his arms, freezing him in place.
"My husband… shall we go home now?" a woman whispered beside him.
Carlos jerked around—
—and blacked out at the sight of a woman in white, her face drenched in blood, smiling sweetly at him.
"My husband…"