I should have trusted my instincts the moment my mother-in-law, Debbie, handed me the birthday gift. Her smile was too perfect, too rehearsed, and her eyes held a glint of something unsettling. Still, I accepted the box with forced politeness and opened it to find a pair of stunning yellow patent leather heels—wide-heeled, elegant, and undeniably my style.

At first, I was impressed, but Debbie’s subtle jab followed: “I thought you might want something nice for once.” Her passive-aggressive tone was familiar. From mentioning Arthur’s ex during holidays to showing up uninvited with photo albums, she had made it clear she didn’t approve of me. Arthur always dismissed her behavior, but after a year of marriage, I had stopped expecting warmth from her.

I left the shoes untouched for a week, but while packing for a work trip to Chicago, Arthur encouraged me to wear them, believing Debbie might be trying to make peace. Wanting to believe that too, I packed them. But the moment I slipped them on at the airport, something felt off. A strange pressure built in my left shoe. At TSA, the officer asked me to step aside after spotting something unusual in the X-ray.

I was shocked when I discovered a small plastic-wrapped package hidden under the insole. I had no idea what it was and explained it was a gift. Though it wasn’t drugs, security couldn’t let me bring it on the plane. I stored it in an airport locker, made my flight, but couldn’t stop thinking: what had Debbie done?

Back home, I had the contents tested: mugwort, yarrow, and St. John’s Wort—herbs historically linked to folk magic for severing ties or protecting from negative energy. Debbie wasn’t trying to frame me—she was trying to use magic to drive me away.

When I told Arthur, he was furious. He called her immediately, vowing she wouldn’t be welcome until she apologized. Her plan had failed—if anything, it brought us closer. The shoes remain in my closet today, a chilling reminder that not all gifts come from love, and not all smiles are sincere.