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Running Out of Time; A Woman's Plea For Help

Updated: Feb 3


Inspiration struck while watching "The Godfather." Considering that confronting this problem might lead to a lifetime of misery, I contemplated eliminating the issue altogether. However, realizing that resorting to violence could make me a suspect, I opted for a spiritual solution.


To protect the family, all names and addresses have been altered. We occasionally make minor modifications before we upload because we get emails from followers all over the world. If you want to share your individual experiences with us, please send your email to sharemystory@thestevenwickblog.com.


The following story does not reflect the view of the Steven Wick network. We neither condone nor preach violence. Although, we appreciate our fans sharing their our personal stories on this platform, we cannot verify the claims in the story below. Read, like and share.



I might not be able to win over your readers after they've read the entire story, but I hope they can empathize with my emotions. I am not asserting my innocence in my actions; in fact, I acknowledge my feelings of guilt, and the numerous sleepless nights reflect the weight on my conscience. If your readers can provide suggestions to help address my predicament, I am open to hearing them. I'm in desperate need of assistance. Could you please encourage your readers to share their recommendations in the comment section? I would greatly appreciate it. Unfortunately, I'm hesitant to share my email address here due to the risk of being traced. Here is my story:


My story dates back over three years. I began noticing a change in my husband of more than two decades. He showed no interest in spending time with me and our children, frequently arriving home late, and keeping his phone away from my reach, among other behaviors. My gut feelings immediately sparked worry and compelled me to ask questions, but his replies consistently brushed aside my doubts, shifting the blame onto me instead of acknowledging any wrongdoing on his end. He even went as far as suggesting that I seek a new pastime, insinuating that I have an excess of free time.


Our initial connection traces back almost thirty years in North Dakota when we were youngsters belonging to different tribes. I belonged to the Chippewa tribe, while he was from the Hidatsa tribe. My upbringing was under my mom's care until she succumbed to cancer when I was only thirteen. With an unknown father, I found myself under the guardianship of my mom's sister after her passing. However, my aunt faced her own struggles, raising a total of thirteen children, including her four biological ones and the rest, like me, through adoption.


The crack pandemic, rampant drug abuse, and alcoholism inflicted a heavy toll on my community, claiming the lives of fathers, mothers, family members, and friends. This scourge remains an ongoing battle that we grapple with to this day.


Navigating the path to school presented significant challenges for us. We frequently encountered bullies, drug dealers, addicts, and other alarming situations just on the journey to school. Occasionally, we were fortunate enough to encounter compassionate police officers who safeguarded our streets and drove away criminal elements. Confronting these adversities, I made a personal commitment never to succumb to these challenges and to construct a life for myself.


One afternoon, as I hurriedly walked home, I found myself just six blocks away when I ran into Mark. Mark, a tall and thin white boy known for his bullying tendencies at school, happened to live not too far from my place. Spotting me walking alone, he positioned himself right in front of me, blocking my path. His sinister gaze signaled trouble, and true to my instincts, he attempted to forcibly snatch my books. However, I clung to them with both arms, refusing to let go. Undeterred, Mark seized my satchel and started pulling me towards a narrow alley. Filled with panic, I screamed for help at the top of my lungs.


Suddenly, a voice rang out. Four teenagers on bikes were approaching, with the tallest one riding towards us. Dismounting his bike, he thunderously ordered Mark to release me. Despite the clear command, Mark feigned ignorance. Then, without warning, there was a resounding smack as the boy struck Mark across the face, sending him crashing to the ground. Overwhelmed with fear, Mark fled the scene. Breathing a sigh of relief, I looked at the boy and expressed my gratitude. He then asked if he and his friends could accompany me home, a request to which I agreed. That boy is my husband today.


We fell in love, both pursued higher education, successfully graduated, and established ourselves in our respective careers. He managed a sizable casino, while I practiced law. Our journey led us to marriage, and we were blessed with three children who are thriving.


Every day, I express gratitude for their well-being, and considering our humble beginnings, we acknowledge the abundance of blessings in our lives. However, as previously mentioned, my challenges emerged a little over three years ago.


In an attempt to understand the situation, I enlisted the services of a private investigator and discovered that my husband was engaged in an affair. His secret liaison was with my youngest child's tutor. Initially composed, I contemplated handling the situation differently until it became apparent that she was manipulating my child, implanting unusual thoughts and persistently prying into our family affairs. Confronting her, I issued a stern warning.


Unfortunately, my husband learned of the confrontation and subjected me to severe physical abuse, resulting in my hospitalization. Attempting to file a police report, I realized that my case faced obstacles due to my marriage to a highly influential individual. Up until that moment, my husband had never shown any inclination toward violence or disrespect. The injuries I sustained were severe, necessitating bed rest for my recovery.


Unfortunately, my husband, Dan, never offered an apology. Instead, he exacerbated the situation. While I lay in bed, he would enter my room intermittently, mocking and asserting that my suffering was a consequence of not staying in my own lane, claiming I deserved everything that befell me. It dawned on me that his mistress had a plan to dismantle our home, eroding the peace we had cherished. Fueled by anger, I began devising a plan.



Inspiration struck while watching "The Godfather." Considering that confronting this problem might lead to a lifetime of misery, I contemplated eliminating the issue altogether. However, realizing that resorting to violence could make me a suspect, I opted for a spiritual solution. I decided that once fully recovered, I would seek the guidance of a Navajo witch.


Locating her proved challenging, given the reluctance of many medicine men and shamans to involve themselves in malevolence. On the day I finally met her, tears streaming down my face, I poured out my heart, divulging every detail. She inquired about my desires, and I expressed my wish for her to send sickness to my husband's mistress. Meeting my gaze, she solemnly cautioned that this action didn't guarantee my husband's return and that once initiated, there was no turning back. Despite my anger, I reluctantly accepted her warning.


She instructed her assistant to fetch an egg, which she then handed to me. Holding the egg, she directed me to utter the woman's name, and I complied. I handed the egg back to her, and after chanting some incantations, she threw it onto the floor. The egg shattered, releasing a foul odor of decaying flesh that filled the room, causing me to vomit.


The ritual proved effective; from that day onward, the mistress fell seriously ill. I became aware of this when the investigator, who had been tailing my husband, observed his frequent visits to the hospital. Despite several months passing, her condition showed no signs of improvement, and my husband seldom returned home, choosing instead to stay by her side.


It gradually dawned on me that seeking a solution of this kind had only led to more problems. The sickness I initiated was becoming fatal, leaving me in a state of turmoil. Despite my initial intentions, I couldn't believe I had allowed my anger to drive me to such drastic measures.


Desperate for a resolution, I reached out to the witch, asking if she could reverse the curse. She affirmed that she could, but the condition was that I must endure the same illness as the mistress. Surviving the sickness was uncertain, but enduring the same suffering was guaranteed.


Now facing a moral dilemma, the mistress has only a few months left to live. I find myself at a crossroads, unsure of what course of action to take. What do I do?


THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME



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