Some people are just fucking born lucky.
They hit the Powerball jackpot while half-as drunk on Fireball shots. They find crisp hundreds fluttering across the parking lot like the universe is their personal sugar daddy. They swipe right at 2:17 a.m. and wake up next to soulmate-level head game and zero emotional baggage.
Margaret Thompson? She was one of those golden-bitch lucky ones.
Maybe the cosmos owed her. Big time. For pushing out a literal angel like Charlotte. For staying soft-hearted even after life tried to curb-stomp her soul. For still holding doors for strangers, tipping 40%, and choosing to smile through the kind of pain that turns most women into walking vinegar.
Kindness like that? In this timeline? That shit deserves cosmic compensation.
And compensation arrived in the filthiest, most decadent way possible.
