Marrying my childhood sweetheart felt like the beginning of our “happily ever after.” That changed when he handed me a notebook filled with his mother’s secrets.
That morning, I wasn’t expecting to run into Andrei. There I was, at the local café in our hometown, when I saw him. Tall, familiar, with a streak of grey in his hair, standing just outside the café we frequented after school.
“Andrei?” I called out, hardly believing my eyes.
He turned and stared at me for a moment. Then, a broad smile spread across his face. “Is it really you?” he said, his warm voice just as I remembered. “I never thought I’d see you here again!”
“Me neither!” I laughed. “What are the odds?”
We decided to grab a coffee together, just like old times. Inside, everything seemed unchanged. The old wooden countertops and the smell of freshly baked pastries transported us back in time.
We chatted for hours, talking about everything and nothing. We laughed over old stories, like the time we got lost during a school trip or how we passed notes during history class. Time flew by.
Coffee turned into lunch, lunch into long walks, and before we knew it, we were calling each other daily. It felt so easy, so natural to be around him.
A few months later, Andrei proposed. It was simple, just the two of us by the lake one evening.
“I don’t want to waste any more time,” he said, his voice calm but filled with excitement. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. Will you marry me?”
I didn’t hesitate for a second. “Yes,” I whispered, tears brimming in my eyes. Two months later, we were married.
After the wedding, we went to his family home, where we had spent countless childhood afternoons. The house hadn’t changed a bit. Even the wallpaper in the hallway was the same, and the old oak tree in the yard was still standing.
Later that evening, after getting ready for bed, I found Andrei sitting at the edge of the bed, looking… different. His usual smile had vanished. He was holding a small, worn-out notebook.
“Andrei?” I asked, sitting down beside him. “Is everything okay?”
He didn’t look at me right away. His gaze was fixed on the notebook, his fingers tracing its edge. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he finally said.
The tone of his voice sent a chill down my spine. “What is it?”
He took a deep breath and only then met my eyes. “This notebook belonged to my mother,” he said softly. “She kept notes… about our family. About something important to her.”
“Okay…” I said slowly, not fully comprehending.
He handed it to me, and I opened it. The pages were filled with neat, connected handwriting. “My family has a… belief,” he began. “Actually, a curse. I know it sounds ridiculous, but they believe it’s real.”
“A curse?” I asked, raising my eyebrows, masking my skepticism.
He nodded. “My mother says that any woman who marries someone from our family… is cursed with misfortune. Tragedy. Pain. It’s been happening for generations, or so she claims.”
I wanted to laugh it off, but stopped when I saw the concern in his eyes. “Andrei, you don’t really believe in this, do you?”
He ran a hand through his hair, looking unsure. “I always told myself it was just an old family superstition. But… I’ve seen things, you know? My parents’ marriage wasn’t exactly smooth. My uncle… well, let’s just say things ended badly for him too.”
I took his hand, offering a reassuring squeeze. “You see, that doesn’t mean anything. Marriages are hard for many people.”
He gave me a faint smile, but his eyes remained troubled. “Maybe you’re right,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced.
A week after the wedding, small mishaps began to pile up. First, a flat tire just as we were about to leave for our honeymoon, leaving us unable to go anywhere.
“It’s just bad luck,” I said, forcing a laugh.
When we returned home, things started to get strange. The business I had worked on for years began losing clients. A series of bad reviews appeared online, some from people we never even worked with. I tried everything to fix them, but nothing seemed to help. It felt like someone had cursed my work.
Then someone broke into our home. Nothing major was stolen, but the psychological damage was immense.
And Andrei noticed. “Do you think… this curse could be real?” he asked one evening, his voice low.
“Of course not,” I quickly replied, though I was starting to doubt. “There has to be an explanation for this. Maybe it’s just… I don’t know… a phase.”
The breaking point came before Christmas. Andrei’s mother insisted on having the celebration at our place. We talked over the phone about the menu, and she seemed in good spirits.
After the call, I left the phone on the couch and picked up a book to read. But as I flipped through the pages, I heard voices. The phone was still connected.
“Do you really think this curse nonsense still works?” Andrei’s father asked her, sounding exasperated.
Without thinking, I pressed the record button immediately.
She laughed. “It works every time. Look at her! Her business is already faltering, and Andrei is so tangled in worries he can barely think. And I’ll finish this story by ruining their Christmas dinner.”
“Enough, Mariana,” he replied. “You’ve scared away enough good women from our sons.”
“If they’re not good enough for my boys, I’ll do what needs to be done,” she said, her tone icy. “I know what’s best for them.”
I froze. I ended the call, feeling numb, her words spinning in my head. All those strange occurrences—the flat tire, the bad reviews—were her doing. There was no curse at all. It was all a lie, a grotesque scheme to control her sons and their wives.
That evening, I faced Andrei, with the phone clutched in my trembling hands. “Andrei,” I began, “you need to listen to this.”
He looked at me, eyebrows furrowed with concern. “What is it?”
I pressed play, and his mother’s voice filled the room.
Andrei looked shocked, his eyes darting between the phone and me as he tried to process what he was hearing. “This… this has to be a mistake,” he stammered, the disbelief clear in his voice. “She wouldn’t… my mother wouldn’t do something like this—”
I took his hand. “Andrei, I heard it all. She tried to break us apart.”
Finally, he looked at me, determination on his face. “I need to hear it from her. I need the truth from both of them.”
We arrived at Andrei’s parents’ house late that night. His father opened the door, surprised to see us. “Andrei, is everything all right?”
Andrei gently pushed past him, his face pale with anger. “Where is Mom?”
His father’s face shifted, stepping back. “Andrei, please, calm down.”
“I am calm,” he said, his voice tight. “But I need answers, Dad.”
Mariana appeared, shocked, her eyes darting between her husband and son, who refused to meet her gaze. “What are you talking about?”
Andrei held up the phone. “I heard you, Mom. You and Dad talking about the curse. Talking about how you… intervened. How you scared women, making them think they were cursed.”
Her face shifted from feigned confusion to a hard, calculated expression. “Andrei, I don’t know what you think you heard, but—”
“You know what you said, Mariana,” his father interjected calmly, stepping forward. “There’s no point denying it anymore.”
She turned to him, her eyes blazing. “How dare you!”
“How dare I?” Andrei’s father shook his head, tired and worn. “I’ve kept quiet for years. I’ve seen you chase away the women Andrei or his brothers loved. I’ve watched you lie, sabotage, play with people’s lives just because you thought you knew what’s best. It’s gone too far.”
Andrei’s face crumpled as he looked at his mother and father. “So it’s true?” he whispered. “All of it?”
Tears began streaming down her face. “I did it because I love you, Andrei.”
He took a step back, shaking his head. “That’s not love. That’s control.”
A heavy silence settled in the room. Andrei’s father spoke again, his voice weary. “Andrei, I’ve tried reasoning with her, believe me. But… she thinks she’s doing what’s right.”
Andrei turned to his father, his voice filled with pain. “And you let her do this? All these years?”
His father looked down. “I was afraid of losing your mother. I believed that one day she would stop. That you would be strong enough to… free yourself from this.”
Andrei fell silent. Taking my hand, he led me to the door. Outside, he looked up at the stars, his shoulders sagging with defeat. He turned to me, his voice barely a whisper: “I’m so sorry. For everything.”
I squeezed his hand. “We’re free now, Andrei. That’s all that matters.”
But as we headed toward the car, I felt the weight of the past, the sadness of a family broken by secrets and a mother’s misguided attempts to protect her sons. Andrei’s heart would need time to heal, but we were leaving behind the curse and his mother.
