In the beginning, our marriage was everything I had ever dreamed of—pure, full of love, and grounded in the kind of trust that only a deep connection could build. For the first three years, Ethan and I were inseparable, bonded by love and the shared belief that no one, not even our families, could come between us. We shielded each other, not because we had to, but because we wanted to. Our marriage wasn’t just a partnership—it was a fortress, and we were each other’s fiercest defenders.
My family embraced Ethan as one of their own from the moment they met him. They loved him, trusted him, and welcomed him with open arms. My parents, devout Christians, taught us the power of prayer, the value of humility, and the importance of living with integrity. They prayed over our union, guided us with wisdom, and supported our dreams in ways that made us feel invincible. Every Sunday, we gathered at my parents’ house for dinner, followed by evening prayers where we all held hands, heads bowed, thanking God for the blessings we had.
Ethan’s devotion to the Lord grew under their guidance, and I was proud to see the man he was becoming. He prayed with me every night, thanking God for our marriage, for the life we were building, and for the strength to face any challenges that came our way. He was respectful towards my parents, treating them with the love and gratitude they deserved. In turn, they supported our dreams, encouraging Ethan to pursue his ambitions, and helping us build a foundation for our future.
For a while, it felt like nothing could touch us. We were thriving. Ethan had started his own business, something he had dreamed of for years, and my parents stood by us through every step. They offered advice, lent us money when we needed it, and never once asked for anything in return. Their love was unconditional, and in those early days, Ethan appreciated that. He often told me how lucky he felt to have married into such a supportive family, how grateful he was for their kindness.
But things changed. Slowly, and almost imperceptibly, something began to shift between us. It started with small things—little disagreements that felt more heated than they should have been, misunderstandings that lingered longer than they should have. At first, I brushed it off as normal marriage woes. Every couple has rough patches, I told myself. But deep down, I knew something was wrong. Ethan had begun to pull away.
The first time I noticed the real strain was after a visit from his mother, Evelyn. She had always been distant with me, never outright cruel, but cold in a way that made me feel unwelcome. I tried to be respectful, tried to bridge the gap, but Evelyn never seemed interested in getting close to me. She was polite, sure, but there was a thin layer of frost between us that never thawed.
After that particular visit, Ethan seemed different. It wasn’t something I could pinpoint immediately, but it was there in the way he spoke to me—in the doubt that crept into his voice when I told him something. It was subtle, but undeniable. He began questioning things that had never been questioned before, doubting my words as if they were suddenly unreliable.
At first, I thought it was just stress. The business was growing, and we were both under a lot of pressure. But then, I started to notice a pattern. Every time Ethan spent time with his mother, he came back colder, more distant. I could feel him slipping away from me, and I didn’t know why. When I confronted him about it, he brushed it off, telling me I was imagining things. But I wasn’t. There was something insidious happening, something I couldn’t quite grasp.
It wasn’t until I overheard a conversation between Ethan and his mother that I began to understand. I had come home early from a meeting and found them sitting in the living room, talking in hushed voices. I stayed out of sight, not wanting to interrupt, but as I listened, my heart sank.
“She doesn’t understand you, Ethan,” his mother was saying. “You deserve better than this. Better than her family meddling in your life, telling you how to run your marriage. They’re poisoning you, filling your head with nonsense.”
“But they’ve been nothing but kind to us,” Ethan protested, though his voice wavered with uncertainty. “They’ve helped us—”
“They’ve helped you?” Evelyn’s voice sharpened. “Or have they trapped you? They’re controlling you, using their so-called kindness to keep you under their thumb. I’ve seen it happen before. They’re not as innocent as they pretend to be.”
I felt my heart race as her words dug into Ethan’s mind like the fangs of a serpent. I wanted to burst into the room, to confront her, to tell Ethan that none of it was true. But I couldn’t move. I was frozen, listening as she continued to weave her poison into his thoughts.
“They’ve got you wrapped around their little finger,” she hissed. “And you’re letting them. You’re letting them tell you how to live, how to think. But you don’t have to. You’re stronger than that, Ethan. Don’t you see? She’s just like them.”
Ethan didn’t respond. He sat there, silent, absorbing her venomous words.
From that day on, things only got worse. The whispers grew louder, more frequent, until they were no longer whispers but commands. Ethan began to believe every lie his mother fed him, began to look at me not with love, but with suspicion. He questioned my every move, doubted my every word.
I tried to talk to him, to make him see that his mother was manipulating him, driving a wedge between us. But he wouldn’t hear it. She had done her job well. The serpent had bitten, and its poison was coursing through his veins.
The man who had once prayed with me, who had once defended me from the world, was now a stranger. A stranger who no longer trusted the hand that had once held him so gently.
And I was left wondering if the love we had once shared could ever be saved from the serpent that now lived between us.
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