For as long as I can remember, I've been convinced that my life would play out like a tragedy. That I was this cosmic chewtoy, an outlet for Misfortune's divine anger. I knew things would end ugly. Most likely, I would die by my own hand. I never expected such a happily-ever-after. That's why I'm so scared of losing him; that would be the perfect ending--to suffer for 20 years, then finally get everything I could ever ask for--only to have the universe pull the rug out from under me moments later. I just don't understand how I've made it this far.