After marrying my childhood love, I believed our fairy tale had finally begun. That belief shattered the moment he handed me an old journal filled with his mother’s hidden truths.
I never expected to see Jake that morning. I was just grabbing my usual latte, strolling down Elm Street in our hometown, when I spotted him. He stood outside the café we used to haunt after school—taller now, with a few streaks of gray in his hair.
“Jake?” I called hesitantly.
He turned, eyes widening in surprise before breaking into a warm smile. “Is that really you? I never thought we’d cross paths again!”
“Me neither,” I laughed. “What are the chances?”
We decided to catch up over coffee, just like old times. The café smelled the same—freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries. It felt as if no time had passed at all.
We talked for hours, reminiscing about lost hikes, secret notes passed in class, and childhood dreams. The day slipped away effortlessly.
Coffee led to lunch, then a walk around town. Soon, our calls became daily, and the old spark reignited naturally.
Months later, Jake proposed by the lake during a quiet sunset.
“I don’t want to waste any more time,” he said, voice steady but full of feeling. “I love you, and I always have. Will you marry me?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” I whispered, tears of joy streaming down. Two months later, we exchanged vows.
After the wedding, we drove to Jake’s family home where we’d spent countless childhood afternoons. The house looked untouched—the same faded wallpaper, the ancient oak tree still standing guard.
That evening, after freshening up, I returned to find Jake sitting on the bed, clutching a worn leather-bound notebook. His usual cheerful expression was replaced by a solemn gaze.
“Jake? Everything alright?” I asked, sitting beside him.
He hesitated, tracing the edges of the notebook. “There’s something I need to share.”
A chill crept down my spine. “What is it?”
He inhaled deeply, locking eyes with me. “This belonged to my mother. She kept detailed notes… about our family and something she believed was important.”
I frowned, unsure what to expect.
He handed me the journal. Pages upon pages of elegant handwriting filled every sheet.
“My family believes… well, they say there’s a curse,” he began. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s a legend passed down through generations.”
“A curse?” I raised an eyebrow, skepticism creeping in.
He nodded slowly. “My mother said that any woman who marries into our family is doomed to face misfortune and heartbreak. It’s happened before… and not just once.”
I almost laughed, but the worry in his eyes silenced me.
“Jake, you don’t actually believe that, do you?”
He ran a hand through his hair, conflicted. “I’ve always told myself it’s just superstition. But I’ve witnessed things… My parents’ marriage was rocky. My uncle’s ended badly too.”
I squeezed his hand reassuringly. “That doesn’t mean anything. Every marriage has its struggles.”
He smiled faintly, but his eyes betrayed lingering doubt. “Maybe you’re right.”
Days after our wedding, little misfortunes started piling up. Our honeymoon plans were derailed by a flat tire. “Just bad luck,” I said, forcing a smile.
At home, my business started to crumble. Clients disappeared. Negative reviews appeared overnight, some from people I’d never met. I scrambled to fix it, but everything felt cursed.
Then, someone broke into our house. Nothing stolen, but the violation was deeply unsettling.
Jake noticed too. “Do you think… the curse might be real?” he asked quietly one night.
“Of course not,” I replied quickly, though doubt gnawed at me. “There has to be another explanation.”
The breaking point came before Thanksgiving. Jake’s mother insisted we host the holiday. During a call, she seemed cheerful, discussing the menu.
But as I settled down with a book, I overheard voices on the phone left connected.
“Do you really think this curse stuff still works?” Jake’s father sighed.
“It always does,” she laughed. “Look at her business tanking. Jake’s so distracted, he can’t think straight. I’ll ruin her Thanksgiving dinner, and that’ll be the end of it.”
“Enough, Marianne,” he warned. “You’ve scared off too many women already.”
“If they’re not right for my boys, I’ll do what’s necessary. I know what’s best.”
My heart sank. I ended the call, numb. Everything—the tire, the bad reviews—they were all her doing. The curse was a lie, a twisted scheme to control her sons and their wives.
That night, I sat across from Jake, phone trembling in my hands. “Jake, you need to hear this.”
He looked up, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
I played the recording. His mother’s voice filled the room.
Jake’s face fell, disbelief written all over. “This can’t be real. She wouldn’t… Mom would never—”
I grasped his hand firmly. “I heard it all. She’s trying to tear us apart.”
He stood, determined. “I need to hear the truth—from both of them.”
We arrived at his parents’ home late. Jake’s father opened the door, surprised.
“Jake, what’s wrong?”
Jake pushed past him, anger pale on his face. “Where’s Mom?”
His father looked away. “Please, calm down.”
“I am calm,” Jake said, voice tight. “I want answers.”
Marianne’s eyes flicked between them. “What are you talking about?”
Jake held up my phone. “I heard everything. You and Dad plotting—scaring off women, making them think there’s a curse.”
Her expression hardened. “Jake, you don’t know what you heard.”
His father stepped forward. “There’s no point denying it.”
She snapped, eyes flashing. “Don’t you dare!”
“Don’t I dare?” His father sighed. “I’ve stayed silent for years. Watched you push away every woman Jake or his brothers loved. Lied, sabotaged, controlled lives—all because you thought you knew best.”
Jake’s face crumpled, torn between his parents.
“So it’s true?” he whispered. “Everything?”
Tears streamed down Marianne’s face. “I did it because I love you.”
Jake stepped back, shaking his head. “This isn’t love. It’s control.”
A heavy silence filled the room. His father spoke again, weary.
“Jake, I tried to stop her. I hoped she’d change. That you’d be strong enough to break free.”
Jake looked at me, voice low, defeated. “I’m sorry. For everything.”
I squeezed his hand. “We’re free now. That’s what matters.”
As we left, I felt the weight of broken promises and secrets behind us. Jake’s heart would heal in time—but the curse, and his mother’s grip, were finally gone.