For a long time, I believed I was simply unlucky in love. Every relationship I entered started with hope and genuine affection. I never rushed love, and I treated every woman I dated with respect.
But after the third relationship ended in tragedy, I could no longer convince myself that it was coincidence. The pattern was disturbing. Each woman I deeply loved passed away just days before her birthday.
At first, I tried to block it out of my mind. Life happens, I told myself. But as the years went by and the same thing repeated itself, fear slowly replaced denial. I stopped celebrating birthdays altogether and avoided emotional attachments.
People around me noticed my withdrawal. Friends said I was cursed. Others avoided discussing relationships with me. I carried a quiet guilt, wondering if loving someone was somehow placing them in danger.
Nights became restless, filled with questions I could not answer on my own.
One evening, while scrolling through Facebook, I came across a long comment under a testimony post.
