This was meant to be the happiest day of our lives. After years of trying, Jerry and I were finally expecting, and we planned a gender reveal party to share the joy with our families. Jerry’s mom, Nancy, offered to handle the cake, eager to be involved.
When we cut the cake, everyone froze—the inside was pitch black. Confused, I looked at Nancy, who tearfully confessed a decade-old fear.
A fortune teller had warned her that a grandson would bring ruin to the family and illness to her. Believing the black cake might “stop the curse,” she acted out of desperation.
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