When I married the boy I had loved since childhood, I thought our fairy tale had finally come true. However, everything changed that evening when he handed me a notebook filled with his mother’s hidden truths.
Seeing Michael that morning was the last thing I expected. Walking down Main Street in our old hometown, I was just getting my usual coffee when I saw him. Tall, familiar, with grey hair at his temples, he was standing near the café where we used to hang out after school.
‘Michael?’ I called out, almost uncertainly.
He turned to me, and a broad smile spread across his face. ‘Is it really you?’ he asked, his voice 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 odds?’
We decided to have coffee together, just like in the good old days. Inside the shop, everything was just like in the good old days. The old wooden counters and the smell of fresh pastries. It felt like time had been turned back.
That day, we chatted for hours, reminiscing about everything and nothing. We laughed at old stories, like how we both got lost on a hike, or how we used to pass notes to each other in history class. The hours melted away.
Coffee turned into lunch, lunch turned into a long walk, and before we knew it, we were calling each other every day. There was something so easy, so natural about being around him.
A few months later, Michael proposed. It was simple: just him and me, sitting by the lake in the 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, and tears filled my eyes. Two months later, we were married.
Later that evening, after freshening up, I returned 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 next to him. ‘Is everything all right?’
He didn’t look at me right away. His eyes were fixed on the notebook, his fingers fingering the edge. ‘There’s… something I need to tell you.’
The tone of his voice sent a chill down my spine. ‘What exactly?’
He took a deep breath and finally met my gaze. ‘This notebook belonged to my mother,’ he said quietly. ‘She kept notes… about our family. About what she thought was important.’
‘Okay…’ I said slowly, not quite understanding.
He handed me the book, and I opened it. Every page was covered in neat, curling handwriting. ‘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, raising my eyebrows, trying to hide my scepticism.
He nodded. ‘My mum says that any woman who marries into this family… is cursed with bad luck. Tragedy. Pain. It’s been that way for generations, or so she says.’
‘Michael, you don’t really believe that, do you?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve always told myself it’s just an old family superstition. But… I’ve seen it all, you know? My father’s marriage to my mother wasn’t exactly smooth sailing. My uncle — well, let’s just say it ended badly for him too.’
I took his hand and squeezed it encouragingly. ‘Listen, it doesn’t mean anything. For many people, marriages are difficult.’
His eyes still looked troubled. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said, though there was no conviction in his voice.
First, we had a flat tyre right before we left for our honeymoon, and we couldn’t go anywhere.
‘Just bad luck,’ I told him, forcing myself to laugh.
Things took a strange turn at home. The business I had spent years building began to lose customers. A string of bad reviews appeared on the internet, from people I had never even worked with. I tried everything to fix the situation, but nothing helped. It seemed as if someone had put a curse on my work.
Then someone broke into our house. Nothing important or valuable was stolen, but the psychological damage was done.
Michael noticed it too. ‘Do you think… could this curse be real?’ he asked one evening, lowering his voice.
‘Of course not,’ I replied quickly, although I was already beginning to doubt myself. ‘There must be an explanation for all this. Maybe it’s just… I don’t know… a phase.’
The turning point came shortly before Thanksgiving. Michael’s mother insisted that we celebrate at her house. We discussed the menu over the phone, and she seemed to be in a good mood.
After the call, I put the phone on the sofa and picked up a book, settling down to read. But as I turned the page, I heard voices. The phone was still connected.
‘Do you really think this curse nonsense still works?’ Michael’s father asked irritably.
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 caught up in his worries that he can hardly think straight. And I’ll put an end to it when I ruin her turkey.’