Jess is suspicious when her icy MIL gifts her expensive shoes for her birthday. Her worst fears come true when she wears them on a business trip, and the TSA discovers something suspicious hidden inside. Now, she must unravel if this gift was an attempt at sabotage or something even darker.

I should have known better than to trust a gift from Debbie. On looking back now, the warning signs were all there — the too-sweet smile when she handed me the box, the way her eyes glinted with something that wasn't quite kindness.

But what was I supposed to do? They were just shoes, right? Beautiful patent leather yellow shoes with a wide heel, exactly my style. And for once, my mother-in-law seemed to be making an effort.

"Oh, they're lovely," I'd said, forcing enthusiasm into my voice while Arthur beamed beside me. "Thank you, Debbie."

She'd 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'd smiled and nodded, just like always. 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?

Besides, it wasn't the first time she'd taken little jabs at me.

There was the Christmas dinner where 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 was an exercise in diplomatic relations, with me playing the role of ambassador to a hostile nation.

"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 gotten worse, not better.

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 lounged on our bed, scrolling through his phone as I packed my suitcase.

"You should wear Mom's shoes," he suggested. "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, looking up from his screen. "That this is her way of extending an olive branch."

If only I'd listened to my gut instead of his optimism.

The first hint of trouble came at the airport. Something felt off. Like there was something in my left shoe, but when I took it off to check, there was nothing there. Just pristine leather and that new-shoe smell.

"Everything okay?" The businessman behind me in the security line looked impatient, checking his watch for the third time in a minute.

"Fine," I muttered, slipping the shoe back on. "Just breaking in new shoes."

But it wasn't fine. With each step toward security, the sensation grew worse — a persistent pressure against the ball of my foot, 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.

The TSA officer's face told me everything before he even opened his mouth.

He'd been scanning items with the practiced boredom of someone who'd seen it all, but something made him sit up straight, eyes narrowing at his screen.

"Ma'am, step aside, please."

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 who'd been behind me in line shot me a suspicious look as he retrieved his laptop. A mother pulled her young daughter closer as they passed.

My cheeks burned as I sat down and worked at the insole with trembling fingers.

"Need some help?" A female officer had 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. There, nestled in a cavity that had been carefully carved into the sole, was a small package wrapped in plastic. Green-brown contents showed through the clear wrapping.

The original 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 on a hard plastic chair, watching other travelers stream past, imagining headlines: "Marketing Executive Caught Smuggling Drugs."

I thought about calling Arthur but couldn't bear explaining this over the phone. What would he think? What would he say to Debbie?

The senior officer who finally arrived to speak to me had kind eyes above his stern mouth. "The preliminary tests show no controlled substances in this package," he said. "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 fought 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 barely made my flight, but the relief was short-lived. The moment I arrived in Chicago, I had the package sent for independent testing. When the results came back, I couldn't believe my eyes.

Mugwort. Yarrow. St. John's Wort. According to my frantic Google searches, these herbs were used in folk magic. They were used for spells meant to drive people away, sever connections, or "protect" someone from unwanted influences.

Debbie had tried to use magic to get rid of me.

That evening, I told Arthur everything. As I spoke, his face darkened with anger, and when I was finished, he let out a long breath.

"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."

As Arthur reached for his phone, I knew we'd weather this storm together and be stronger for facing it head-on.

Maybe that's what really drives Debbie crazy: knowing that every attempt to separate us only brings us closer together.

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.