I should’ve known better than to trust a gift from Debbie. Looking back, the signs were all there — the forced smile, her eyes glinting with something that wasn’t quite kindness. But at the time, it just seemed like a nice gesture.
It was only shoes, right? Beautiful yellow patent leather heels with a wide heel, exactly my style. And for once, my mother-in-law seemed to be trying to do something thoughtful.
“Oh, they’re lovely,” I said, trying to sound excited as Arthur beamed beside me. “Thank you, Debbie.”
She waved her hand, dismissing my gratitude. “I noticed you always wear such… practical shoes. I thought you might want something nice for once.”
There it was, the jab, wrapped in sweet words as usual. But I smiled and nodded, just like I always did. That’s what you do when you’re trying to keep the peace. Arthur loves his mother, and I’m supposed to be the bigger person, right?
This wasn’t the first time she’d taken a dig at me. There was that Christmas dinner when she asked Arthur if he remembered how his ex-girlfriend, Sarah, made “the most divine turkey.”
Or the time she showed up uninvited on our anniversary with old photo albums full of Arthur’s childhood pictures and stayed for three hours. Every visit was a diplomatic mission, with me playing the role of ambassador to a hostile nation.
“She’s just set in her ways,” Arthur would say after each tense encounter. “Give her time.” But here we were, married over a year, and if anything, her behavior was getting worse, not better.
I didn’t wear the shoes for a week. They sat in their box, pristine and accusatory, until my business trip to Chicago came up. Arthur was lounging on our bed, scrolling through his phone as I packed my suitcase.
“You should wear Mom’s shoes,” he said, looking up. “Show her you appreciate them.”
I ran my finger over the smooth leather. “Yeah, maybe I will.”
“I think she’s trying, you know. This is her way of extending an olive branch.”
If only I’d listened to my gut instead of his optimism.
The first sign something was wrong came at the airport. Something felt off, like there was something in my left shoe, but when I took it off to check, there was nothing there. Just smooth leather and that fresh new-shoe smell.
“Everything okay?” The businessman behind me in the security line shot me an impatient look, glancing at his watch for the third time.
“Fine,” I muttered, slipping the shoe back on. “Just breaking in new shoes.”
But it wasn’t fine. With every step I took toward security, the feeling grew worse — a constant pressure against the ball of my foot, like something was trying to push its way out.
By the time I reached the conveyor belt, I was practically limping. The TSA officer’s voice brought me back to reality.
“Ma’am, please remove your shoes and put them on the belt.”
It was a relief to sit down when they asked me to remove my shoes. But the officer’s face told me everything before he even spoke. He’d been scanning items with the practiced boredom of someone who had seen it all. But this time, something made him sit up straight, his eyes narrowing at the screen.
“Ma’am, step aside, please.”
My stomach dropped. “Is there a problem?”
He pointed to the X-ray screen, where something dark and dense was hidden in the shape of my left shoe. “We need to examine this more closely. Please remove the insole.”
The businessman behind me shot me a suspicious look as he grabbed his laptop. A mother pulled her daughter closer, whispering in her ear as they passed by.
My cheeks burned. I sat down, trembling as I worked at the insole with shaky fingers.
“Need some help?” A female officer appeared, snapping on blue latex gloves.
“I… I don’t understand,” I stammered. “These were a gift from my mother-in-law. I just wore them for the first time today.”
The insole peeled back with a soft ripping sound. Inside, nestled in a cavity carefully carved into the sole, was a small package wrapped in plastic. Green-brown contents peeked through the clear wrapping.
The officer’s face hardened. “Can you explain this?”
I could barely speak. “Those aren’t my shoes. I mean, they are, but they were a gift. I didn’t know—” My voice cracked. “Please, I don’t know what this is. I’m supposed to be giving a presentation in Chicago tomorrow.”
“We’ll need to test the contents,” he said, cutting me off. “Please wait here.”
The next twenty minutes felt like a lifetime. I sat on a hard plastic chair, watching the other travelers walk past, imagining the headlines: “Marketing Executive Caught Smuggling Drugs.”
I thought about calling Arthur, but I couldn’t bear to explain it over the phone. What would he think? What would he say to Debbie?
When the senior officer finally came to speak with me, his eyes were kind, but his mouth was set in a firm line.
“The preliminary tests show no controlled substances,” he said. “But we can’t allow you to take it on your flight, just in case. You understand this could have been a serious situation?”
“Yes, sir.” I struggled to hold back tears of relief. “I’m so sorry for the trouble.”
“Be more careful about what you carry through security,” he warned as he released me.
I stared at the small package as it was handed to me. Part of me wanted to throw it away, but I tossed it into one of the airport lockers before rushing to catch my flight.
I barely made it. The whole trip to Chicago, my mind was racing. Why would Debbie do this? What was she trying to accomplish?
The more I thought about it, the more one thought seemed impossible but undeniable: my mother-in-law had tried to sabotage me.
After I returned home, I took the package to a lab for testing. When the results came back, I was floored.
I stared at the report, my coffee growing cold. Mugwort. Yarrow. St. John’s Wort. These herbs were used in folk magic. According to my frantic online searches, they were meant to drive people away, sever connections, or “protect” someone from unwanted influences.
Debbie had tried to use magic to get rid of me.
That evening, after we finished dinner, I gathered the courage to confront Arthur.
“We need to talk about your mother,” I said, my voice tight.
He turned, dish soap bubbles clinging to his hands. “What’s wrong?”
I told him everything — the airport, the herbs, the magic. As I spoke, his face darkened, his jaw clenched.
“She’s never wanted me in your life,” I said. “This proves it. I was almost arrested because of this stunt, Arthur. All because she can’t accept that you chose me.”
Arthur dried his hands slowly, methodically. It was like he needed to focus on something simple to calm himself. “I knew she was having trouble accepting you, but this…” He shook his head. “This is something else. It’s unforgivable.”
“What are we going to do?”
He looked at me, and in his eyes, I saw pain — but also determination. “I’m going to call her right now. And I’m going to tell her that until she admits what she did and genuinely apologizes to you, she’s not welcome in our home.”
“Arthur, you don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do,” he interrupted. He took my hand, holding it firmly. “She crossed a line, Jess. She tried to hurt you and made you look like a criminal. I love my mother, but I won’t let her destroy my marriage. You’re my family too, and it’s time she understood that.”
I leaned into him, feeling his heartbeat against my cheek. The shoes sat in the closet, a chilling reminder that sometimes the most dangerous gifts come wrapped in the prettiest packages.
As Arthur reached for his phone, I knew we’d weather this storm together. We would come out of it stronger.
Maybe that’s what drives Debbie crazy: knowing that every attempt to separate us only brings us closer together.
Maybe someday she’ll realize there’s enough room in Arthur’s heart for both of us. Until then, we’ll keep our distance, and I’ll be more careful about accepting gifts.
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