A Suspicious Gift
I should have known better than to trust a gift from Debbie. Looking back now, all the warning signs were there—the too-sweet smile she gave me when handing over the box, the glint in her eyes that wasn’t quite kindness. But how could I have said no?
It was just a pair of shoes, right? Beautiful yellow patent leather shoes, with a wide heel—exactly my style. For once, my mother-in-law seemed to be making an effort.
“Oh, they’re lovely,” I said, forcing enthusiasm into my voice while Arthur beamed beside me. “Thank you, Debbie.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Well, I noticed you always wear such… practical shoes. I thought you might want something nice for once.”
The barb was there, wrapped in silk, just like always. But I smiled and nodded, just like I always did. That’s what you do when you’re trying to keep the peace, right? When your husband loves his mother and you’re trying to be the bigger person.
It wasn’t the first time she’d taken little jabs at me. I still remembered the Christmas dinner when she’d pointedly asked Arthur if he remembered how his ex-girlfriend Sarah made “the most divine turkey.”
Or when she’d shown up unannounced on our anniversary with old photo albums full of Arthur’s childhood pictures and stayed for three hours.
Every visit with Debbie was like diplomatic relations with a hostile nation. I had to keep my cool, but it was getting harder and harder.
“She’s just set in her ways,” Arthur would say after particularly tense encounters. “Give her time.” But we’d been married for over a year now, and if anything, her behavior had only gotten worse.
I didn’t wear the shoes for a week. They sat in their box, pristine and accusing, 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 suggested, looking up. “Show her you appreciate them.”
I ran my finger along the smooth leather. “Yeah, maybe I will.”
“I think she’s trying, you know,” he added, his voice soft. “That 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 off came at the airport. I could feel it—the shoes. There was something in my left shoe, but when I checked, nothing was there. Just the pristine leather and that new-shoe smell.
“Everything okay?” The businessman behind me in the security line asked, his impatience growing as he checked his watch for the third time.
“Fine,” I muttered, slipping the shoe back on. “Just breaking in new shoes.”
But it wasn’t fine. The pressure against the ball of my foot grew worse with each step toward security, as if something was trying to push its way out. By the time I reached the conveyor belt, I was practically limping. It was a relief when the TSA officer asked me to remove my shoes and put them on the belt.
His face told me everything before he even said a word. He was scanning items with the practiced boredom of someone who had seen it all, but something made him sit up straighter, eyes narrowing at the screen.
“Ma’am, step aside, please,” he said, his voice clipped.
My stomach dropped. “Is there a problem?”
He pointed to the X-ray screen, where something dark and dense lurked in the outline of my left shoe. “We need to examine this more closely. Please remove the insole.”
The businessman behind me shot me a suspicious look, grabbing his laptop as he walked past. A mother hurried her young daughter away.
My cheeks burned as 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 finally 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 showed through the clear wrapping.
The officer’s expression hardened. “Can you explain this?”
“Those aren’t my shoes. I mean, they are, but they were a gift. I didn’t know—” My voice cracked. “Please, I have no idea what that is. I’m supposed to be giving a presentation in Chicago tomorrow morning.”
“We’ll need to test the contents,” he cut me off. “Please wait here.”
Twenty minutes felt like 20 years. I sat in the hard plastic chair, watching other travelers stream past, imagining headlines like, “Marketing Executive Caught Smuggling Drugs.”
I thought about calling Arthur but couldn’t bring myself to explain this over the phone. What would he think? What would he say to Debbie?
Finally, a senior officer arrived. He had kind eyes, though his mouth was stern.
“The preliminary tests show no controlled substances in this package,” he said, his voice calm. “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 whispered, fighting 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 package the TSA officer handed me. Part of me wanted to throw it away, but instead, I hurriedly tossed it into one of the airport lockers before jogging to catch my flight.
I barely made it, and during the entire trip to Chicago, my mind raced. Why would Debbie do this? What was she trying to accomplish?
Each possibility I considered seemed more outlandish than the last, but they all pointed to one conclusion: my mother-in-law had deliberately set me up.
When I got home, I rushed the bag to a lab for testing. The results came back quickly, but when I saw them, I could hardly believe my eyes.
Mugwort. Yarrow. St. John’s Wort. According to my frantic Google searches, these herbs were used in folk magic. 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. To push me out of Arthur’s life.
That evening, after dinner, I waited until Arthur was loading the dishwasher, humming to himself, before I finally spoke up.
“We need to talk about your mother,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
He turned, dish soap bubbles clinging to his hands. “What’s wrong?”
I told him everything—the herbs, the shoes, the magic. His face darkened with every word. I could see the muscle in his jaw ticking as he clenched it.
“She’s never wanted me in your life. 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, like he was using the task to ground himself.
“I knew she was having trouble accepting you, but this…” He shook his head. “This is something else entirely. It’s on a whole other level, and it’s unforgivable.”
“What are we going to do?”
He looked at me, and I saw the pain in his eyes—but there was also something else. Determination. “I’m going to call her right now. And then 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 took my hand, his grip firm and sure. “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 steady heartbeat against my cheek. The shoes sat in the back of our closet, a reminder that sometimes the most dangerous gifts come wrapped in the prettiest packages.
As Arthur reached for his phone, I knew we’d face this together. And maybe that was what really drove Debbie crazy—knowing that every attempt to separate us only made us stronger.
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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