Marrying Michael felt like stepping into a dream. We had grown up side by side—sharing secrets under the playground slide and imagining futures we hoped would someday intersect. After years apart, we reunited outside our old favorite coffee shop. One conversation led to another, and before I knew it, we were engaged. When he proposed by the same lake where we once made childhood promises, I said yes without hesitation.
Our wedding was beautiful. That night, we arrived at his family home, a place frozen in time, with familiar wallpaper and echoes of summer memories. But something about Michael shifted once we settled in. He held a worn notebook, his expression unreadable.
“This belonged to my mom,” he said. “There’s something in it… something you need to see.”
The notebook held handwritten reflections, and at first, they seemed harmless. But then Michael explained. According to his mother, every woman who married into their family faced heartbreak and hardship—a pattern she believed was tied to a curse. Michael admitted he never fully believed it, but couldn’t ignore the history of broken relationships within the family.
I dismissed it as superstition. But odd things began happening. Our car broke down right before our honeymoon. My thriving business faced sudden setbacks due to negative online activity. And one night, we came home to find signs of a break-in—though nothing was missing.
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