I should’ve known better than to trust a gift from Varna. Looking back, the signs were clear—her overly sweet smile when she handed me the box, the glint in her eyes that wasn’t quite kind.
But what could I do? They were just shoes, right? Gorgeous red leather pumps with a sturdy heel, exactly my style. For once, my mother-in-law seemed to be trying.
“They’re beautiful,” I said, faking a smile while Toren grinned beside me. “Thank you, Varna.”
She waved it off. “Well, I noticed you always wear such… plain shoes. Thought you deserved something nice for a change.”
The jab was there, hidden in her sugary tone, like always. But I smiled and nodded, like always. That’s what you do to keep the peace, right? When your husband loves his mom, and you’re trying to be the better person?
It wasn’t her first dig at me. There was the holiday dinner when she asked Toren if he remembered how his ex, Lirien, made “the best roast.” Or the time she crashed our anniversary with old photo albums of Toren’s childhood and stayed for hours. Every visit felt like a test, with me playing the diplomat to a cold, unwelcoming queen.
“She’s just stuck in her ways,” Toren would say after tense moments. “Give her time.” But we’d been married over a year, and her attitude only got worse.
I left the shoes in their box for a week, untouched, until my Chicago work trip. Toren was on our bed, scrolling his phone as I packed.
“Wear Mom’s shoes,” he said. “Show her you like them.”
I touched the smooth leather. “Maybe I will.”
“She’s trying, you know,” he added, looking up. “This might be her way of making peace.”
If only I’d trusted my gut instead of his hope.
Trouble started at the airport. Something felt wrong in my left shoe, like a lump, but when I checked, it was empty—just clean leather and that new-shoe smell.
“Everything okay?” The guy behind me in the security line checked his watch, annoyed.
“Fine,” I mumbled, slipping the shoe back on. “Just new shoes.”
But it wasn’t fine. With every step, the pressure on my foot grew, like something was pushing up. By the time I reached the conveyor belt, I was limping. Taking off the shoes for the TSA was a relief.
The officer’s face said it all before he spoke. He’d been scanning with bored routine, but something made him sit up, eyes narrowing at his screen.
“Ma’am, step aside, please.”
My stomach sank. “What’s wrong?”
He pointed to the X-ray, where a dark shape hid in my left shoe. “We need to check this. Remove the insole.”
The guy from the line gave me a suspicious look as he grabbed his bag. A mom pulled her kid closer as they passed. My face burned as I sat, hands shaking, tugging at the insole.
“Need help?” A female officer appeared, snapping on gloves.
“I don’t get it,” I stammered. “They were a gift from my mother-in-law. First time wearing them.”
The insole came loose with a ripping sound. In a hidden pocket carved into the sole was a small plastic package, green-brown stuff showing through.
The officer’s face hardened. “Can you explain this?”
“They’re not mine. I mean, the shoes are, but they were a gift. I didn’t know—” My voice broke. “I have a presentation in Chicago tomorrow.”
“We’ll test it,” he said. “Wait here.”
Twenty minutes felt like forever. I sat on a hard chair, watching travelers pass, imagining headlines: “Marketing Manager Caught Smuggling.” I thought about calling Toren but couldn’t face explaining this. What would he say to Varna?
The senior officer had kind eyes but a firm voice. “Tests show no drugs,” he said. “But you can’t take this on the flight, just in case. This could’ve been serious.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, holding back tears. “I’m so sorry.”
“Be careful what you carry,” he warned, handing me the package.
I wanted to toss it but stuffed it into an airport locker before rushing to my flight.
The whole trip to Chicago, my mind raced. Why would Varna do this? What was her goal? Every idea seemed crazier than the last, but they all led to one truth: my mother-in-law set me up.
Back home, I took the package to a lab. The results shocked me. Mugwort. Yarrow. St. John’s Wort. A quick search said these herbs were used in old folk spells—to push people away, break bonds, or “protect” someone from unwanted people.
Varna had tried to curse me out of her son’s life.
That night, after dinner, I faced Toren. He was loading the dishwasher, humming, when I spoke.
“We need to talk about your mom.”
He turned, soap suds on his hands. “What’s up?”
I told him everything—the airport, the herbs, their meaning. His face darkened, jaw tightening with every word.
“She’s never wanted me here,” I said. “This proves it. I could’ve been arrested, Toren, all because she can’t stand that you picked me.”
He dried his hands slowly, like he needed the moment to think. “I knew she struggled with you, but this…” He shook his head. “This is too far. It’s unforgivable.”
“What do we do?”
He looked at me, pain in his eyes but also resolve. “I’m calling her now. She admits what she did and apologizes, or she’s not welcome here.”
“Toren, you don’t have to—”
“I do.” He took my hand, grip steady. “She crossed a line, Zeryn. She tried to hurt you, make you look like a criminal. I love my mom, but I won’t let her ruin us. You’re my family too, and she needs to get that.”
I leaned into him, feeling his heartbeat against my cheek. The shoes sat in the closet, a reminder that the prettiest gifts can hide the ugliest intentions.
As Toren grabbed his phone, I knew we’d face this together, stronger for it. Maybe that’s what drives Varna crazy: every move to tear us apart only pulls us closer.
Maybe one day she’ll see there’s room in Toren’s heart for us both. Until then, we’ll keep our distance, and I’ll think twice about her gifts.