Emma blamed her red hair for her bad luck. The fiery strands had earned her nicknames like “Carrot Top” and “Matchstick” growing up, but now they just served as a reminder that she couldn’t blend in—no matter how much she wanted to. Living in a cramped apartment above a thrift shop, she’d spent years scraping by on commissions that never paid enough. Her dreams of becoming a famous artist? Long abandoned.

It was St. Patrick’s Day, and the streets outside were alive with music, laughter, and green chaos. Emma avoided it all, slipping downstairs to browse the thrift shop for inspiration. She wasn’t looking for anything specific—just something to fill the blank canvas waiting upstairs.

That’s when she spotted it: a leather-bound book tucked between a chipped vase and a pair of mismatched shoes. The embossed cover read The Clover Contract, and its spine shimmered faintly as if catching the shop’s dim light in a way no other object did.

Curious, Emma picked it up and flipped it open. The pages were blank—at first. Then, as though written by an invisible hand, words began to appear:

“Find a four-leaf clover before sunset. Complete the tasks. Claim your wish. Fail, and luck will abandon you forever.”

Emma’s pulse quickened. She looked around the shop, half-expecting someone to jump out and laugh at her gullibility. But no one paid her any attention. Shrugging, she tucked the book into her bag. Maybe it was some kind of weird journal. Or maybe—just maybe—it was something more.

Task One: Return What You Stole

Emma didn’t believe in magic, but something pulled her to the park. The book’s instructions replayed in her mind, and the clover felt like a harmless enough challenge. She knelt by a patch of grass, the late afternoon sunlight stretching shadows across the ground.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered. Yet, just as the words left her lips, her fingers brushed against something smooth. She froze.

A perfect four-leaf clover.

Her heart raced as she plucked it. The book, now warm against her side, shifted in her bag. When she opened it, new words had appeared:

“Return what you stole.”

Emma’s breath hitched. She didn’t need clarification—she knew exactly what it meant.

Years ago, she’d stolen credit for a mural at a group art show. Alyssa, her friend at the time, had poured her soul into the piece. But when the gallery owner mistakenly praised Emma for it, she didn’t correct them. The guilt had festered ever since, and their friendship dissolved soon after.

Emma stared at the words, her pulse pounding. The air felt heavier, the clover burning like a brand in her hand. Was it really worth digging up old wounds for a silly wish?

But as much as she wanted to ignore the task, she felt compelled. Dialing Alyssa’s number, Emma’s hand trembled.

They met at a coffee shop, the tension palpable. Emma stumbled through her apology, her words tripping over themselves.

“I was desperate,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think my work was good enough. I’m sorry, Alyssa. You deserved better.”

For a long moment, Alyssa said nothing. Then, finally, she sighed. “You’re right. I did. But… I appreciate you telling me.”

It wasn’t forgiveness exactly, but it felt like a step. As Emma walked out, the book in her bag grew cold, and the next task appeared.

Task Two: Help Someone Who Hurt You

The words sent a chill down Emma’s spine: “Help someone who has hurt you.”

Her mind went straight to Jordan. Her ex. The guy who’d broken her heart into tiny, jagged pieces two years ago. She hadn’t spoken to him since the night she caught him texting someone else.

She didn’t think she’d see him, but fate—or the book—had other plans. As she walked home, she saw him stranded on the side of the road, struggling to push his broken-down car.

“No way,” Emma muttered, turning to cross the street. But the book in her bag flared hot as if daring her to keep walking.

Gritting her teeth, Emma marched over.

“Need help?” she asked stiffly.

Jordan blinked at her, clearly shocked. “Emma? Uh, yeah, the battery’s dead.”

They pushed the car in tense silence, the air thick with unspoken words. When they finished, Jordan turned to her, sheepish. “I know I screwed up. I don’t deserve this, but… thanks.”

Emma didn’t reply. She didn’t need to. As she walked away, she felt a strange sense of release.

Task Three: Risk Everything You Hold Dear

The final task appeared as Emma reached her apartment: “Risk everything you hold dear.”

Her stomach dropped. She glanced around the room at her paintings, her sketchbooks, the remnants of a career she’d been too afraid to pursue. She knew what the book wanted.

That night, she packed her best pieces into a portfolio and took them to the gallery downtown. Her heart pounded as she handed them to the owner, a stern woman who flipped through them without a word.

“These are… interesting,” the owner said finally. “There’s potential here. I’ll give you a spot in next month’s show.”

Emma could hardly believe it. She’d risked rejection, humiliation, and failure—but for once, it had paid off.

Ending

When Emma returned to her apartment, the book was glowing faintly on her table. She opened it one last time.

“Luck isn’t magic. It’s courage, kindness, and faith. You’ve had it all along.”

The words faded, and the book disintegrated into golden dust. Emma stared at the four-leaf clover still clutched in her hand and smiled. Maybe she wasn’t cursed after all.

This was written by our contributing writer, Rachel Taulbee.