After marrying the boy I’d loved since childhood, I thought our fairytale had finally come true. However, everything changed the night he handed me a notebook filled with his mother’s hidden truths.

Running into Michael that morning was the last thing I expected.

While I was just picking up my regular coffee, strolling Main Street in our old hometown, I saw him.

Tall, familiar, a touch of gray at his temples—he stood outside the café where we used to hang out after school.

“Michael?” I called, almost unsure.

He turned toward me before a broad smile spread across his face. “Is that really you?” he asked, his voice just as warm as I remembered.

“I never thought I’d run into you here again!”

“I know!” I said with a laugh. “What are the chances?”

We made a decision to grab coffee together, just like old times. Inside the shop, everything felt like it had back then.

The old wood counters and the smell of fresh pastries. It was almost like time had rewound itself.

We chatted for hours that day, catching up on everything and nothing. We laughed over old stories, like the time we both got lost on a hike or how we’d leave each other notes in history class.

The hours melted away.

Coffee turned into lunch, lunch turned into long walks, and before we knew it, we were calling each other every day. There was something so easy, so natural about being around him.

Some months later, Michael proposed. It was simple, just him and me, sitting by the lake one evening.

“I don’t want to waste any more time,” he said, his voice steady but full of emotion.

“I love you. I’ve always loved you. Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” I whispered, tears filling my eyes.

Two months later, we tied the knot.

After the wedding, we drove to his family home. 

Later that evening, after I’d freshened up, I came back to find Michael sitting on the edge of the bed, looking… different. His usual easy smile was gone. He was holding a small, worn notebook in his hands.

“Michael?” I asked, sitting down beside him.

“Is everything okay?”

He didn’t look at me right away. His eyes were on the notebook, fingers tracing the edge. “There’s… something I need to tell you.”

The tone of his voice sent a chill down my spine.

“What is it?”

He took a deep breath, finally meeting my gaze. “This notebook is my mom’s,” he said quietly. “She kept notes… about our family.

About something she thought was important.”

“Okay…” I said slowly, not quite understanding.

He handed it to me, and I opened it. Pages and pages of neat, looping handwriting filled every page. “My family has this… belief,” he began.

“A curse, actually. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but they believe it’s real.”

“A curse?” I asked, eyebrows raised, trying to hide my skepticism.

He nodded. “My mom says that any woman who marries into the family… is cursed with bad luck.

Tragedy. Pain. It’s happened for generations, or so she says.”

“Michael, you don’t really believe this, do you?”

“I don’t know.

I’ve always told myself it’s just an old family superstition. But… I’ve seen things, you know? My dad’s marriage to my mom wasn’t exactly smooth.

My uncle — well, let’s just say things ended badly for him, too.”

I took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Look, that doesn’t mean anything. Marriages are hard for a lot of people.”

His eyes still looked troubled.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced.

A week after the wedding, small misfortunes began to pile up.

First, it was a flat tire right before we departed for our honeymoon, leaving us unable to drive anywhere.

“Just bad luck,” I told him, forcing a laugh.

Back home, things took a strange turn. The business I’d spent years building started losing clients. A string of bad reviews appeared online, some from people I’d never even worked with.

I tried everything to fix it, but nothing seemed to help. It felt like someone had cursed my work.

Then, someone broke into our house. Nothing important or valuable was stolen, but the psychological damage was done.

Michael noticed, too.

“You think this… this curse could be real?” he asked one night, his voice low.

“Of course not,” I replied quickly, though I was starting to doubt myself. “There has to be an explanation for all of this. Maybe it’s just… I don’t know… a phase.”

The turning point came just before Thanksgiving.

Michael’s mother insisted we host the holiday at our home. We chatted on the phone about the menu, and she seemed in good spirits.

After the call, I placed my phone down on the couch and picked up a book, settling in to read. But as I turned the page, I heard voices.

The phone was still connected.

“Do you really think this curse nonsense is still working?” Michael’s father asked her, sounding exasperated.

Without thinking, I immediately pressed the record button.

She laughed. “It works every time. Look at her!

Her business is already struggling, and Michael is so wrapped up in worry he can hardly think straight. And I will put an end to this when I ruin her turkey.”

“Enough, Marianne,” he replied. “You’ve already scared off enough good women from our sons.”

“If they aren’t right for my boys, I’ll do what I have to,” she said, her tone cold.

“I know what’s best for them.”

My stomach turned. I ended the call, feeling numb, replaying her words in my mind. All those strange things — the flat tire, the bad reviews — they were her doing.

There was no curse. It was all a lie, a twisted trick to control her sons and their wives.

That night, I sat across from Michael, clutching my phone with trembling hands. “Michael,” I began, “there’s something I need you to hear.”

He looked at me, his brows knitted in concern.

“What’s wrong?”

I pressed play, and his mother’s voice filled the room.

Michael looked stunned, his eyes darting from the phone to me as he tried to process what he’d heard. “This… this has to be a mistake,” he stammered, the disbelief thick in his voice. “She wouldn’t… my mother would never—”

I took his hand.

“Michael, I overheard the whole thing. She’s been trying to break us apart.”

Finally, he looked at me, his face set with determination. “I need to hear it from her.

I need to hear the truth, from both of them.”

We arrived at his parents’ house late that night. Michael’s father opened the door, looking surprised to see us. “Michael, is everything alright?”

Michael pushed past him, his face pale with anger.

“Where’s Mom?”

His father’s face fell, and he took a step back. “Michael, please, calm down.”

“I am calm,” he said, his voice strained. “But I need answers, Dad.”

Marianne looked taken aback, her eyes flicking to her husband, who wouldn’t meet her gaze.

“What are you talking about?”

Michael held up my phone. “I heard you, Mom. You and Dad, talking about the curse.

Talking about how you’ve been… interfering. Scaring off women, making them think they’re cursed.”

Her face went from feigned confusion to a hard, calculating expression. “Michael, I don’t know what you think you heard, but—”

“You know what you said, Marianne,” his father interrupted quietly, stepping forward.

“There’s no point denying it.”

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