She Unknowingly Assaulted A WITCH In The MARKET, 7 Days Later This Happened
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The Curse of Pride: Cindy’s Story
Cindy had always been proud of the life she built for herself. She was young, beautiful, and married to a loving husband who worked hard to provide for their family. Together, they dreamed of raising children, building a home full of laughter, and enjoying the simple blessings of life. But sometimes, pride can open doors we do not see—and behind those doors, darkness waits.
It all began on an ordinary afternoon in the bustling town market. Vendors shouted prices, children ran between stalls, and women bargained loudly over baskets of fruit and vegetables. Cindy had gone there to buy food for her household. She walked gracefully, head held high, her clothes clean and bright. Among the vendors was an old woman, frail and bent, selling dried herbs and roots spread across a worn mat.
The old woman’s voice was hoarse but persistent. “Please, young lady,” she called, lifting a handful of roots. “Buy these herbs. They will heal sickness and bring strength.”
Cindy barely glanced at her. The woman’s hair was wild, her dress patched and faded. Cindy wrinkled her nose.
“I don’t need your nonsense,” she muttered.
Still, the old woman tried again, her tone pleading. “Even a little coin, my child. It will bless you to give.”
That was when Cindy’s pride broke loose. Turning so that everyone nearby could hear, she sneered, “Why would I buy your useless weeds? Look at you—you’re filthy, ragged, and desperate. No one should waste their money on trash like this.”
The market fell silent for a moment. Other shoppers turned to look. The old woman’s face tightened. Her eyes, sunken yet strangely sharp, locked onto Cindy’s with something colder than hurt. Slowly, she straightened her back and raised one bony finger.
“You will regret those words,” she hissed. “The day you need joy, sorrow will find you instead. The day you ask for life, death will come. From your womb will come only emptiness, until you bow your head and learn humility.”
Cindy laughed and walked away, but inside, a shiver ran through her. Still, she told herself it was just the bitter words of a beggar.
For a while, life went on as usual. Cindy and her husband were happy together, and soon she discovered she was pregnant. Joy filled their home; neighbors came to congratulate them, and Cindy dreamed of holding her child. But three months into the pregnancy, disaster struck. One night she felt sharp pains, and before dawn, she miscarried. Their joy turned to ashes.
The couple was devastated, but they told themselves it was nature’s will. Months later, Cindy conceived again. This time, she was careful—she ate well, rested, and followed every piece of medical advice. Yet, at nearly the same stage as before, she lost the child again.
Cindy wept bitterly, her heart breaking each time she saw mothers cradling their babies in the street. Her husband comforted her as best he could, but she noticed a shadow in his eyes—a grief too heavy for words.
When she became pregnant a third time, hope warred with fear. She prayed, even fasted, begging God to protect the child. For a while, everything seemed different. But once more, before she could carry the baby to term, her womb betrayed her. Another life slipped away.
By the fourth miscarriage, Cindy was nearly mad with despair. She shut herself inside, refusing to see friends or relatives. She hated her own reflection in the mirror, hated her body for failing, hated the world for giving her dreams only to tear them away.
And then, in the darkness of her grief, she remembered the old woman in the market—the ragged figure, the sharp eyes, the words that had burned like fire: “From your womb will come only emptiness, until you bow your head and learn humility.”
Could it be true? Was her suffering the fruit of that curse?
Fear consumed her. Night after night she dreamed of the old woman’s face, laughing while babies slipped from her arms into smoke. She woke up screaming, drenched in sweat, her husband holding her tightly.
Finally, desperate for answers, Cindy went to the church. She confessed everything—the pride, the insult, the curse, and the tragedies that followed. The pastor listened quietly, then laid a hand on her shoulder.
“My child,” he said, “there is no curse greater than God’s power. But pride opens doors for darkness. If you repent, close those doors, and seek His mercy, you can be free.”
The church prayed for her. They anointed her with oil and broke the curse in Jesus’ name. Cindy wept as if her soul were being wrung dry, but as the prayers continued, a great peace fell over her. It was as if chains had snapped, releasing her from an unseen prison.
From that day, something shifted. Cindy felt lighter. The nightmares stopped. She began to smile again, to sing as she cooked, to believe that perhaps hope was not dead after all.
Months later, she conceived once more. This time, there were no complications. The pregnancy was not easy—there were moments of fear—but each time doubt crept in, she prayed, and peace returned. When the ninth month arrived, Cindy went into labor and delivered a healthy baby boy.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she held him against her chest. Her husband knelt beside the bed, trembling with joy. “He is our miracle,” he whispered.
From that day on, Cindy’s life was transformed. She no longer walked with pride but with gratitude. She learned to respect the poor, to treat everyone with kindness, to remember that even the weakest carry dignity.
And though the memory of the old woman haunted her, Cindy never saw her again. Whether she had been a witch, or merely a bitter soul whose words had been empowered by Cindy’s pride, Cindy did not know. What she did know was this: mercy had triumphed over judgment, and love had conquered the curse.
Her story became a testimony in the town. Women who had suffered loss came to her for comfort. Men who doubted God’s power listened as she told them, “I was barren, but now I hold my son. I was cursed, but now I am blessed. Do not despise the weak, for in lifting them, we lift ourselves.”
Cindy had learned the hardest lesson: pride can destroy, but humility can restore. And from the ashes of her suffering, she rose with new strength, carrying her child—the living proof that no curse is stronger than love and faith.
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