My Stepmother Gifted Me a Towel: Turned out to be something I never expected

From the moment my stepmother, Helen, married my father, a palpable tension hung between us. We never had outright confrontations, but there was always an unspoken barrier. Maybe it was our clashing personalities or the lingering memory of my late mother that still filled our home. Despite this, I appreciated the happiness Helen brought back into my father’s life after my mother’s passing. His contentment made the awkwardness tolerable.

One rainy afternoon, Helen visited me unexpectedly, handing me a beautifully wrapped package. “Just a little something for you,” she said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. Inside was a towel, exquisitely embroidered with vibrant colors and intricate patterns, far more elaborate than anything I would have chosen for myself.

“Thank you, Helen,” I said, genuinely touched. “This is beautiful.”

She nodded. “I thought you’d like it. It’s something special.”

A Father’s Fury
A few days later, my father, Tom, came over to help me fix a leaky faucet. As he walked into the bathroom to grab his tools, his eyes landed on the towel hanging neatly on the rack. His face twisted with shock and anger. Without a word, he snatched the towel from the rack and stormed into the kitchen, where he threw it into the trash with startling force.

“Dad! What are you doing?” I exclaimed, rushing after him. “That was a gift from Helen!”

He turned to me, his expression pained. “Sweetheart, I hope you haven’t used that towel yet because it…” He paused, struggling for words. “Because it’s cursed.”

I stared at him, utterly confused. “Cursed? What do you mean?”

Taking a deep breath, he pulled me into the living room and sat me down. “Helen… she believes in some very strange practices. She thinks she can influence people through objects. That towel, it wasn’t just a gift. It was meant to bring you harm.”

A Chilling Revelation
My father’s words echoed in my mind. “But why would she do that?”

He looked away, clearly uncomfortable. “I’ve overheard her talking to her friends about these things. I never paid much attention, but it seems she’s been getting more… involved in these practices.”

Determined to uncover the truth, I decided to confront Helen directly. I went to her house, feeling a mix of anger and fear. When she opened the door, she looked genuinely surprised.

“We need to talk,” I said, my voice trembling slightly.

She invited me in, and we sat in the living room. “What’s this about?” she asked cautiously.

“The towel you gave me,” I started, watching her reaction closely. “Why did you give it to me?”