Cursed by My Sister-In-Law

An hour later, the doctor returned with my ultrasound results. He seemed troubled, as if he was trying hard to find the right words to break the news to me.

My heart sank as I snatched the report from his hand. Boldly printed at the top were the words: "Embryonic Demise."

"Ms. Sinclair, it seems your pregnancy stopped progressing about a week ago. At five months, it would be best to…" he began, but I could not hear the rest.

My mind buzzed loudly, drowning out his voice. I stumbled out of the room and ran to the street, collapsing onto the curb as tears streamed uncontrollably down my face.

I could not believe that my pregnancy had stopped a week ago. Just two days ago, Vanda had told me my baby was perfectly healthy.

I refused to believe this was happening to me. There was no way I lost my baby just like that.

How could Vanda be so cruel and do this to me?

Suddenly, I thought about what the old woman had said. Believing she might have a way to help me, I quickly rummaged through my bag and pulled out the envelope she had given me.

My hands trembled as I dialed her number. When the call was connected, I immediately said, "Hello, Ma'am. I'm—"

Before I could finish my sentence, she interrupted me. "Prepare 28,888 dollars in cash and bring it to 21, Block 3, Harmony Street."

When I heard the amount she was requesting, I was speechless. I feared the old woman might be scamming me, but I had no choice. For the sake of my baby, I had to give it a shot.

I wiped my tears and rushed to the nearest bank. Once I withdrew the money, I carefully placed it in the red envelope. Then, I flagged a cab and gave the driver the address.

My heart was pounding during the entire ride, feeling uneasy all over. I silently prayed that the old woman could really save my child.

Before I even reached the destination, my phone buzzed. Seeing that it was Hector, I quickly picked up the call.

"Luna, why did you withdraw so much money?" he asked as soon as I answered.

I froze, suddenly remembering that Hector's banking app was linked to my account. Of course, he would have been alerted about the withdrawal.

I hesitated, torn over whether to tell him the truth about Vanda. After all, she was his sister. They had lost their parents at a very young age and had been inseparable since.

Instead, I stammered, "I—uh, a friend needed to borrow money. I was already near the bank, so I just got it for them."

He let out a long sigh of relief. "Alright. But where are you? Vanda said you've been gone for hours, and she's getting worried."

Just hearing her name made my hands shake. My grip on my phone tightened, and I forced myself to stay calm as I replied, "I'll be home later. I'm just dropping off the money."

Then, I immediately hung up, not giving Hector a chance to ask more questions.

After that, Hector began texting me every ten minutes, asking where I was. It was strange—he had never been this overbearing before.

Eventually, I arrived at the address, a three-story building tucked away on a quiet street. I approached cautiously, each step heavier than the last.

As I entered, the overwhelming scent of herbs hit me. The dim light revealed shelves crammed with jars, some labeled with strange symbols on yellow paper, giving the place an eerie vibe.

"Ma'am, the doctor said my baby's been gone for a week…" I began, taking a deep breath to steady myself. I quickly recounted the events of the day.

The old woman listened, taking the envelope without even opening it. "This money is necessary—it offsets the backlash from breaking the curse."

"Casting and undoing a curse both come at a cost," she added solemnly.

I nodded nervously, my voice barely above a whisper. "Is there still a chance to save my baby?"

She placed her hand on my stomach, her expression growing darker. "The spirit of this stillborn has been feeding on the curse for days. It's deeply rooted, but not impossible to fix."

Afterward, she turned and pulled a black clay jar filled with dark soil from beneath a small altar. Before I could ask what she was doing, my phone buzzed again—it was a text from Vanda.

"Luna, where are you? Come home now; I made you fresh fish soup!"

Another message came seconds later. "Why aren't you replying? This soup is great for pregnancy—you have to have it!"

However, I did not dare to respond. A few minutes later, another message arrived, sending chills down my spine.

"Luna, I know you're on Harmony Street. I'm coming to get you."

I froze, clutching my phone as I slowly lifted my head.