I should have trusted my instincts. When my mother-in-law, Debbie, handed me the neatly wrapped birthday box, something about her smile felt off—too polished, too perfect. Her eyes glittered with something sharp beneath the surface. Still, I forced a polite thank-you and unwrapped the box to find a stunning pair of yellow patent leather heels.
They were exactly my style—wide-heeled, glossy, elegant. Arthur looked thrilled, and Debbie waved off my compliment with a smug little jab. “I thought you might want something nice for once. You always wear such… practical shoes.” The insult was subtle, but unmistakable. Not unusual from Debbie.
She’d never liked me. Whether it was her mentioning Arthur’s ex at Christmas or showing up uninvited with photo albums on our anniversary, she always found a way to remind me I didn’t belong. Arthur always brushed it off—“She’s just set in her ways”—but after over a year of marriage, it was clear she wasn’t warming up. The shoes stayed untouched for a week until I started packing for a work trip to Chicago. Arthur encouraged me to wear them, thinking Debbie was trying to make peace.
Wanting to believe him, I packed them. But from the moment I slipped them on, something felt wrong. At the airport, a strange pressure built in my left shoe. I took it off and checked but saw nothing unusual. Still, the discomfort grew until I reached the TSA checkpoint. When I removed the shoes for screening, the officer’s casual demeanor shifted. He asked me to step aside. “There’s something in your shoe,” he said, pointing to the X-ray. My heart raced. I peeled back the insole, hands trembling, and found a small plastic-wrapped package hidden in a carved-out cavity. “I don’t know what that is,” I stammered. “These were a gift. I didn’t even know anything was in them.” The officers tested the contents.
Thankfully, it wasn’t drugs, but they couldn’t allow me to bring it on board. Shaken but cleared, I tossed the package into a secure airport locker and barely made my flight. The entire trip, I couldn’t stop thinking—what had Debbie done? Why would she give me shoes with something hidden inside? When I returned home, I retrieved the package and had it tested. The results stunned me: mugwort, yarrow, St. John’s Wort. Herbs tied to old folk magic, meant to sever relationships, repel people, or protect someone from a so-called negative influence. Debbie hadn’t tried to get me arrested—she’d tried to use magic to drive me away. I told Arthur everything after dinner one night. He went pale, then furious. “She crossed a line,” he said. “It’s one thing not to like you. It’s another to endanger you.” He promised to call her, to tell her she wasn’t welcome until she confessed and apologized. As he reached for his phone, I felt a weight lift off me. Debbie’s plan had failed. She hadn’t come between us. If anything, she brought us closer. The shoes still sit in the closet—a reminder that sometimes, the prettiest gifts carry the darkest intentions. And that I’ll never underestimate a smile from someone who doesn’t want me there.