After marrying my childhood sweetheart, I thought our happily ever after had finally begun. But that dream took a sharp turn when he handed me a notebook filled with his mother’s secrets.
It all started one morning when I unexpectedly ran into Michael. I was strolling down Main Street in our old hometown, grabbing my usual coffee, when I saw him. There he stood, tall and familiar, with the slightest hint of gray in his hair, outside the coffee shop we used to frequent after school.
“Michael?” I called out, unable to believe my eyes.
He turned around, and for a moment, just stared. Then a wide grin spread across his face. “Is that really you?” he said, his voice warm and just as I remembered. “I never thought I’d see you here again!”
“Neither did I!” I laughed. “What a surprise!”
We decided to grab coffee, just like old times. Inside, everything was the same as it had always been. The familiar wooden counters and the aroma of fresh pastries made it feel like time had stood still.
That day, we chatted for hours, catching up on everything and nothing. We laughed about old stories, like when we got lost during a hike or how we used to leave notes for each other in history class. The hours seemed to fly by.
Coffee turned into lunch, lunch into leisurely walks, and soon we were calling each other every day. Being with him felt so easy and natural.
Several months later, Michael proposed in the simplest yet most heartfelt way. We were sitting by the lake one evening when he said, “I don’t want to waste any more time. I love you. I’ve always loved you. Will you marry me?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” I whispered, tears of joy filling my eyes.
After our wedding, we drove to his family home, where we’d spent countless afternoons as kids. The house was unchanged, even the wallpaper in the hallway and the old oak tree in the yard remained the same.
Later that evening, after freshening up, I found Michael sitting on the edge of our bed, looking different. His usual easy smile had vanished. In his hands was a small, worn notebook.
“Michael?” I asked, sitting beside him. “Is everything alright?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he traced the notebook’s edge, his eyes fixed on it. “There’s… something you should know.”
The seriousness in his voice made me shiver. “What is it?”
Taking a deep breath, he met my gaze. “This is my mom’s notebook,” he began. “She wrote about our family… something she thought was important.”
“Okay…” I said slowly, unsure of what he meant.
He handed the notebook to me, and as I opened it, I found pages filled with neat, looping handwriting. “My family has this… belief,” he started, “a curse, actually. I know it sounds absurd, but they think it’s real.”
“A curse?” I echoed, my eyebrows raised in disbelief.
He nodded. “My mom says any woman who marries into the family is destined for bad luck. Tragedy. Pain. It’s happened for generations, or so she claims.”
I almost laughed but stopped when I saw his worried expression. “Michael, surely you don’t actually believe that, do you?”
Looking conflicted, he ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve always told myself it was just an old superstition. But I’ve seen things… my dad and mom’s marriage wasn’t easy. And my uncle… well, things ended badly for him too.”
I squeezed his hand reassuringly. “That doesn’t mean anything. Marriages are challenging for many people.”
He smiled faintly, though his eyes remained troubled. “Maybe you’re right,” he said, though he didn’t seem convinced.
After the wedding, our luck turned for the worse. First was a flat tire just before leaving for our honeymoon, stranding us at home.
“Just a stroke of bad luck,” I insisted, trying to dismiss it with a forced laugh.
Back home, things took a stranger turn. The business I’d spent years building began losing clients. Negative reviews appeared online, some from people I’d never even met. No matter what I tried, nothing fixed it. It started feeling like someone had indeed cursed my work.
Then there was the break-in. Nothing significant or valuable was taken, but the psychological impact was profound.
Michael noticed too. “Could this ‘curse’ actually be real?” he pondered one night, his voice a whisper.
“Of course not,” I responded quickly, though doubt had crept into my mind. “There has to be a logical explanation for all this. Maybe it’s just… a rough patch.”
The real turning point came before Thanksgiving. Michael’s mother insisted we host the holiday feast. We discussed the menu over the phone, and she seemed in great spirits.
After we hung up, I put my phone aside and picked up a book. But as I turned a page, I realized the phone was still connected, and I heard voices.
“Do you really think this curse routine is working?” Michael’s father asked, sounding tired.
Without thinking, I hit the record button.
She laughed lightly. “It works each time. Just look at her! Her business is tanking, and Michael is too worried to think straight. And I plan to ruin her Thanksgiving turkey too.”
“Enough, Marianne,” he urged. “You’ve scared off enough good women from our sons.”
“If they’re not right for my boys, I’ll do what it takes,” she replied coldly. “I know what’s best for them.”
My heart dropped. The strange incidents — the flat tire, the bad reviews — were orchestrated by her. There was no curse, just her twisted manipulation to control her sons and their partners.
That evening, I sat across from Michael, my hand trembling as I held the phone. “Michael,” I said gently, “there’s something you need to hear.”
He looked at me with concern. “What is it?”
I played the recording, and his mother’s voice filled the room.
Michael looked stunned, glancing between the phone and me as he absorbed what he’d heard. “This has to be a mistake,” he faltered, disbelief coating his words. “My mother wouldn’t… there’s no way—”
I grasped his hand. “I overheard everything. She’s been trying to tear us apart.”
Finally comprehending, he set his expression in determination. “I need to hear the truth from them, face to face.”
We drove to his parents’ house late that night. Michael’s father answered the door, a look of surprise on his face. “Michael, what’s going on?”
Fueled by anger, Michael brushed past him. “Where’s Mom?”
Michael’s father paused, then stepped aside. “Michael, please, try to stay calm.”
“I am calm,” he asserted, though his voice was tight. “But I need answers.”
When Marianne entered the room, surprise flickered across her face. When she saw the phone in Michael’s hand, her demeanor shifted from confusion to something more calculating.
“Michael, what is this about?” she asked.
He raised the phone. “I heard you talking about the curse, about how you’ve been meddling and frightening women away, making them believe they’re cursed.”
Her expression shifted from feigned innocence to resignation. “Michael, I don’t know where you’re getting—”
“We both heard you, Marianne,” Michael’s father interrupted gently, stepping forward. “There’s no denying it now.”
Her eyes flashed angrily at him. “How dare you!”
“Dare what?” he retorted, exhaustion evident in his tone. “I’ve stayed silent for too long. Watching you sabotage his relationships, dictate their lives all because you believed you knew best. Enough is enough.”
Michael looked at both his parents in disbelief. “It’s true?” He asked, his voice a whisper. “Everything?”
Her tears began to fall. “I did it because I love you, Michael.”
Shaking his head, he repeated, “This isn’t love. It’s control.”
The room fell into a heavy silence. His father spoke again, his voice weary. “Michael, I’ve tried to stop her, believe me. But she genuinely believes she’s helping.”
Michael turned to his father, his voice thick with emotion. “And you let her do this? All these years?”
Looking down, his father admitted, “I feared losing my family. I hoped she’d stop, that you’d eventually break free.”
Michael stood in silence for a moment before taking my hand and leading me to the door. Outside, he looked up at the stars, his shoulders heavy with the weight of loss but also newfound freedom. “I’m so sorry for everything,” he whispered.
I squeezed his hand firmly. “We’re free now, and that’s what matters most.”
As we walked to our car, I felt the sadness of a family broken by secrets and a misplaced love. Michael’s healing would take time, but we were leaving behind the shadows of the past and stepping into a brighter future together.
