On the day of Yekaterina and Aleksandr’s wedding, a mysterious old woman appeared at their driveway, ready to read Yekaterina’s palm. Yekaterina, who did not believe in such things, was skeptical… until the old woman revealed details that simply could not have been fabricated.
The morning of my wedding was exactly how I had always imagined it. It was a bit chaotic, I was overjoyed, and the atmosphere was filled with love. My bridesmaids were about to arrive, and we planned to enjoy a light lunch with a cheese board and a glass of champagne.
My dress was hanging in its garment bag, and I was getting ready to marry Aleksandr—my best friend and the man who had made me believe in everlasting love. Our wedding was going to be unusual. Aleksandr and I had decided to marry at night on a yacht, so we had the entire day to prepare for this new stage of our lives… At least, that’s what I thought.
I applied a face mask and went outside to meet the courier with my bouquet. I had intentionally scheduled the delivery for the last possible moment so the flowers would be fresh and not wilted.
But as I walked toward the driveway, waiting for the delivery car, I noticed her.
She was standing on the path that cut through my yard. An elderly woman, with weathered skin, disheveled gray hair, and clothes that looked like they hadn’t been washed in several weeks.
And yet, despite her appearance, her eyes were piercingly sharp. There was something unsettling in her calm demeanor.
“Girl,” she called to me softly yet with confidence. “Come here, girl.”
I froze. Every instinct told me I should ignore her and go back inside, but her gaze seemed to hold me in place. Against my will, I walked closer. Maybe she was hungry? I could make her some tea and a sandwich and send her on her way.
After all, it was my wedding day. How could I turn an old woman away?
“Give me your hand, girl,” she said, holding out her palm. “I want to read your fortune. Let’s see what the lines on your hand say.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, forcing a polite smile. “But I don’t believe in that.”
She smiled faintly.
“You don’t have to believe, my dear,” she replied. “You just have to listen. Maybe something will resonate with your soul.”
Before I could say anything else, she gently took my hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong for someone so frail. I should have pulled my hand back, but I didn’t.
“The man you’re going to marry,” she began, studying the lines on my palm, “does he have a birthmark on his right thigh? Shaped like a heart?”
I froze. My stomach clenched. No one knew about Aleksandr’s birthmark. No one.
“And his mother?” she continued. “She wasn’t in his life? She’s passed away?”
I nodded slowly, a chill running through me.
“How… how do you know this?”
Her gaze became serious.
“Girl, he will destroy your life. But you still have a choice. If you want to know the truth, look inside the plush rabbit he keeps in his closet.”
I recoiled, pulling my hand away.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Trust your instincts,” she answered. “And remember: a love built on lies will crumble.”
I was about to turn around and leave when my bouquet arrived. Grabbing it from the courier, I hurried back into the house, slamming the door behind me. My heart was pounding, and her words echoed in my mind.
The plush rabbit.
Aleksandr had told me about it. A toy his mother gave him before she died. He kept it in his closet as a reminder.
I washed off my face mask and quickly sent a message in my group chat with my girlfriends:
Girls, I’ll be out of touch for a few minutes. I’ll text you when I’m back. Then we’ll celebrate!
“Okay, Katya,” I said to myself. “Time to find that rabbit.”
Aleksandr was at his father’s house, getting ready. That meant I was alone at home. I could do whatever I wanted.
I opened his closet and took out the rabbit. Its gray fur was a bit worn, and I noticed a zipper on its back.
My heart started to pound harder. I unzipped it and pulled out a bundle of papers.
Son, why are you ashamed of me? Please don’t abandon me. I love you. – Mom.
I froze. My heart clenched. The next note:
Why aren’t you answering? I’ve been calling for weeks.
And the third one:
Please, let me see you at least once. I need to know you’re all right.
My legs gave way, and I sank to the floor. His mother was alive. She had been desperately trying to contact him.
How had she been sending these letters? Through the mailbox?
I realized: Aleksandr had lied. About his mother. About one of the most important parts of his life.
I called him.
“Katya, what’s wrong? Is everything okay?”
“Come home. Right now.”
When he arrived, I showed him the letters. His face went pale, and he sat down, hiding his face in his hands.
“It’s complicated,” he said quietly.
I looked at him, angry.
“You lied to me. How can I marry you?”
I made him explain. He confessed that his father had forced him to cut ties with his mother after their divorce.
That evening, I saw that old woman again. Only this time I knew her name—she was Aleksandr’s mother.
The wedding was canceled, but a few months later we held a small, cozy celebration, and his mother was there with us.
Sometimes love isn’t about perfect beginnings—it’s about returning to the truth and to the people who truly matter.
