My Sister Got Married and Divorced Eight Times

My sister, Shirley Bacon, was just thirty years old this year and had been married eight times.

It was not that she divorced her eight husbands, but her every husband had been taken away by death.

Every time before her wedding, she consulted a fortune teller, who always looked troubled upon seeing her.

The straightforward ones said, "You are destined to bring misfortune to your husbands. Marriage will lead to disaster. You shouldn't harm others."

The more tactful ones said, "This isn't your true match. You will only find stability after sixty. Better wait."

But Shirley, though she consulted, never listened.

And now, she was preparing for her ninth marriage.

I prayed this man had a stronger fate.

1

When Shirley was eighteen, she was set to marry her first husband and consulted a fortune teller before the wedding.

The old lady, looking at the Tarot, shook her head. "Dear, you are destined to bring misfortune to your husbands. If you marry, it won't last a year."

Shirley came back furious, calling the woman a fraud.

She and her first husband had known each other since childhood. How could it be possible that their marriage wouldn't last a year?

Our family didn't believe it either.

But who would have thought, ten months later, her husband drowned while swimming in the lake in the village.

Shirley refused to believe she was cursed.

We didn't want to believe it either, thinking it was just a coincidence.

That lake claimed lives every year, and her husband died because he was reckless. We couldn't entirely blame Shirley, could we?

So two years later, Shirley got married again.

Before the wedding, she had another consult, and the fortune teller again said they wouldn't last a year.

Though Shirley didn't believe it, she couldn't help but feel anxious, living cautiously.

Her second husband was a truck driver, often traveling long distances.

That year, Shirley didn't dare let him go far. They rented out the truck and kept him close to home.

They lived on tenterhooks for a year, finally reaching the last day.

Shirley excitedly told me, "I knew that fortune teller was a fraud. See, we're almost at a year!

"Bart went to buy a cake. Once he's back, I won't let him out, just to prove that fraud wrong and stop the gossiping!"

Shirley was beaming, and I also thought the fortune teller had exaggerated.

Just as she finished speaking, we heard a commotion outside.

It turned out that as her husband was approaching the house, a truck veered off the road, crushing him to death.

The blood mixed with the white cream from the cake, a scene I would never forget.

This incident didn't just shock our family but the entire village, cementing Shirley's reputation for bringing misfortune to her husbands.

But there were always those who defied fate.

In our rural area, there were fewer eligible girls and more boys.

Plus, Shirley was slender and beautiful, the most beautiful girl in the village.

Many, even knowing her reputation, would still pursue her by any means.

Rumor had it they even set up a betting pool on whether they could survive a year after marrying her.

And Shirley, never accepting her fate, kept marrying to prove herself.

Her third husband drowned in a ditch while watering the fields at night.

Her fourth husband died of a sudden heart attack while drinking with friends.

Her fifth husband was bitten by a poisonous snake while hunting rabbits in the hills.

Her sixth husband mistakenly drank pesticide, thinking it was soda, during a midnight trip to the bathroom.

Her seventh husband mysteriously disappeared. When his body was finally found in a ravine, it had been dried out and gnawed by wild animals, not a single piece of flesh intact.

The police investigated for a long time but couldn't determine how he died.

By the eighth marriage, we were terrified of Shirley remarrying.

But the eighth husband seemed obsessed, falling in love with her at first sight and refusing to leave, insisting on marrying her.

He claimed his fortune reading declared him invincible, that Shirley couldn't harm him, and threatened to hang himself if she didn't agree.

At first, Shirley resisted, but she eventually gave in to his relentless persistence and married him.

Not even a year into the marriage, Shirley's motherinlaw, after hearing some rumors, forced Shirley to divorce.

At that time, Shirley had just discovered she was pregnant. The cruel old lady secretly put aborticide in Shirley's food.

During an argument with his mother, the eighth husband fell from the stairs and died on the spot.

Shirley was utterly devastated.

Year after year, it was like a curse that tightly gripped her fate.

She wasn't yet thirty and had already been married eight times.

They were not separated by life but by death.

This time, Shirley finally believed in fate.

She told me, "Polly, I never believed in fate before, but now I understand. Everything is predestined, and we have no control over it."

These words made my heart broken.

I remembered the last time she got married, as I had also started dating, we decided to consult a fortune teller together.

This time, the fortune teller was an old man who looked quite kind.

He looked at Shirley and remained silent for a long time before speaking softly, "Dear, according to your fortune, your true match hasn't arrived yet."

Shirley asked in a daze, "Then when will my true match come?"

The old man stroked his beard, calculating for a long time before saying, "Your marriage will stabilize only after sixty. Better wait."

Shirley, with no expectation of her marriage, wasn't surprised anymore.

Every fortune teller said almost the same thing.

The straightforward ones said, "You are destined to bring misfortune to your husbands. Marriage will lead to disaster. You shouldn't harm others."

The more tactful ones said, "This isn't your true match. You will only find stability after sixty. Better wait."

But life was only a few decades long. Who knew if one could live to sixty? What was the point of getting married by then?

Shirley was only down for a moment before she pulled the Shaman to read my fortune.

The Shaman looked at me and beamed. "This girl has a good fate, destined to bring luck to her husband. Any man who marries her will be fortunate."

Shirley eagerly asked, "What about Polly's boyfriend? Is he her true match?"

The Shaman nodded. "She has a good fate. She won't encounter any bad relationships. As long as it reaches the point of discussing marriage, it will be her true match."

That day, Shirley was very happy when we left.

I, however, felt a bit bittersweet. Shirley and I were very close.

When we were little, our parents were away working to earn money, so we grew up with our grandparents.

But they were old and had difficulty getting around, so most of the caretaking fell on Shirley.

She was five years older than me.

Since I was born, she learned to change my diapers, wash clothes, and feed me formula.

The first word I said was "Shirley".

When I first tried to walk, I fell into her arms.

To me, Shirley was like a mother, even closer than my real mother.

I wished nothing but the best for her.

But thinking of her misfortunes made my throat tight, and I couldn't breathe.

Shirley seemed to sense my thoughts and patted my head affectionately.

"Polly, you don't need to worry about me. This is my fate.

"My only wish is to see you live a safe and happy life."

After the death of her eighth husband, Shirley stayed at home for half a year and decided never to marry again, planning to find work out of town.

As she put it, not marrying meant she had to earn her own living and wouldn't end up pitifully in old age.

I was very happy about her decision.

Marriage isn't everything in life. I hoped Shirley could find her own path.

I even told my boyfriend that since Shirley had taken care of me when I was young, I would take care of her when she got old.

And when I was gone, the kids would take over, ensuring she wouldn't be left alone in her old age.

My boyfriend didn't dare disagree and readily agreed.

But two years later, Shirley told me she was in love again.

The outside world was both exciting and lonely.

The man was Maurice Congreve, a colleague of hers, handsome and courteous.

His pursuit was passionate and relentless. He would wander the city at midnight just because Shirley wanted pizza.

He would take care of her meticulously when she was sick.

Shirley had turned him down for half a year.

But her heart, dry like an arid well, was stirred by this man like a pool in spring.

She would chat with me on the phone about his virtues, and while I was happy for her, I was also a bit worried.

Once, I asked if she had told Maurice about her past.

Shirley was silent, then sighed deeply.

"Polly, I'm afraid.

"You know, except for my first husband, the other seven were just because I didn't want to accept my fate.

"I didn't love them. They were attracted to my looks or wanted to win a bet. They didn't truly love me.

"But this time is different. Maurice loves me, and I love him.

"Polly, you know what? I really love him!

"I really want to try again!"

Her tone was firm, as if she were staking everything on one last gamble.

The words of caution I had ready got stuck in my throat.

I told my mother about my worries.

She said Maurice Congreve had a good name.

She also consulted a fortune teller, who said that nine was the ultimate number, and once the ninth trial was over, everything would be fine.

The fortune teller said that Maurice would seal Shirley's curse. They were a perfect match.

But I wasn't convinced.

This time, I could clearly see that Shirley was serious.

And I was terrified of her seriousness.

What if Maurice couldn't last a year? What should Shirley do then?

Would she attempt suicide like the first time?

After her first husband drowned, his parents came to our house, insisting that Shirley had cursed him.

They demanded she return all the wedding gifts and pay extra compensation.

They also insisted that during the burial, Shirley make a doll in her likeness, dressed in her clothes, to be buried with him.

In our culture, this was called a ghost marriage, which was considered very bad for the living.

But Shirley agreed without hesitation and secretly drank poison, intending to follow him in death.

Luckily, I discovered it in time; otherwise, she would have been gone.

I could hardly bear to think about it. If something happened to Maurice...

Would Shirley attempt suicide again?

But my worries were in vain.

During the holidays, Maurice came with his parents, traveling a long distance to propose.

Maurice was even more handsome in person, with thick eyebrows and bright eyes. He was cheerful and courteous, impeccable in his manners.

My parents knew Shirley's situation, so they didn't expect much from Maurice's family.

They only asked that Maurice be devoted to Shirley and that they live a good life together.

Maurice and his parents readily agreed, clearly satisfied with Shirley.

The two families didn't talk for long before agreeing to combine the engagement and wedding on the twentieth of January.

Shirley beamed with joy, as expectant as she was for her first wedding.

But watching her smile, I couldn't shake a sense of foreboding.

Maurice had to return home to prepare, and before he left, I secretly got his contact information.

He was surprised when I asked for his number.

"Polly, is there something wrong? Shirley has my number. Why not ask her?"

I hesitated for a moment.

But in the end, I looked him in the eye and said, "I have something important to tell you. Please listen and consider carefully before deciding to marry Shirley."

Maurice looked confused, but before he could respond, someone called him away.

I decided to tell Maurice everything about Shirley's past.

I knew this might ruin the marriage.

But it was better to face a shortterm pain than regret later.

After I guessed Maurice had safely arrived home, I sent him a long message on WhatsApp.

That night, I couldn't sleep at all.

In a halfdream, I imagined Maurice fuming at home after the wedding.

I saw his parents angrily accusing Shirley of deception.

I dreamt of Shirley in utter despair, attempting suicide again by slitting her wrists.

In the dream, her wrists were covered with gruesome, deep wounds.

The blood seeped into her white wedding gown.

Shirley's face, pale from blood loss, stared blankly at me with lifeless eyes.

It was as if she was asking, "Polly, why did you do this?"

In the dream, I cried my heart out, overwhelmed with pain.

I wanted to tell Shirley that I didn't want her to die, I didn't want Maurice to regret it, and I didn't want her to suffer anymore.

But my throat felt choked, unable to make any sound.

Knock, knock, knock.

I was jolted awake by a knock on the door, realizing it was already daylight.

"Polly, are you awake? I thought I heard crying from your room."

I quickly made an excuse.

After she left, I felt a sudden confusion, unsure if what I did was right or wrong.

In the mirror, my face looked fatigued.

The pillow was stained with tears as if I had washed it with them.

And Shirley knew nothing about this.

She was completely immersed in the joy of love.

The nineteenth of January arrived in the blink of an eye.

Since Maurice Congreve's family was from out of town, according to our local customs, he was supposed to come a day early to fetch the bride, as agreed with our family.

I had been on edge since the night before.

In these days, I often opened my chat history with Maurice, desperately wanting to ask, "Have you made up your mind? Are you going to marry her or not?"

But every time I typed the question, I deleted it, too scared to send it.

I was conflicted to the point of bursting!

The next day, Shirley put on her most beautiful makeup, waiting for Maurice to arrive.

I cautiously asked her, "Shirley, have you been in touch with Maurice these past few days? How are his preparations going?"

Shirley's expression became a bit unnatural. "Maurice said there's a tradition in his place where the couple shouldn't see or contact each other for half a month before the wedding for good luck."

My heart sank.

Had Maurice made up his mind?

Which place would have such a tradition? It was obviously an excuse.

But seeing the hopeful look in Shirley's eyes, I couldn't bear to tell her the truth.

Eight o'clock, nine o'clock, ten o'clock, eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock...

Time ticked by, and still no sign of Maurice.

Shirley's eyes gradually dimmed. She moved a chair to the doorway, staring blankly at the gate.

"Polly, do you think Maurice regrets it?" she muttered.

I almost burst into tears but quickly turned away, covering my eyes so she wouldn't see.

After a long pause, I murmured, "Maybe there's traffic. It could be delayed..."

Shirley sighed softly and fell silent.

We waited from sunrise to sunset.

The weather was chilly in January. Seeing Shirley's forlorn figure sitting there, I hurried to drape a thick coat over her shoulders.

"Shirley, let's go inside. Maybe it's for the best if he doesn't come..."

Shirley sighed heavily, as if waking from a spell, and prepared to stand.

But she had been sitting too long, and she staggered as she got up.

I quickly supported her, and just then, a blinding light shone into the yard, like the first rays of dawn piercing the night, illuminating everything!

Maurice had arrived!

He actually came!