“Never touch this again.”
Emily stepped back, frightened. I had never heard him speak to our daughter that way.
That was the first night I wondered whether the bottle contained something other than ordinary alcohol.
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The years passed, but the ritual never changed.
Once a month, Victor received a small package in the mail. He immediately carried it to the basement and returned with a
full, unlabeled bottle. Whenever I asked who had sent the package, he said it came from an old friend. But when I suggested
inviting that friend to dinner, Victor changed the subject.
One night, I decided not to drink. When Victor briefly left the kitchen, I poured the contents of my glass into a flowerpot.
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By morning, the flower’s leaves had turned black.Get Marriage Tips
My hands began trembling. I spent hours that day reading about slow-acting poisons. I began remembering how often I had
felt exhausted, dizzy, or unwell at night. Could the drink have caused all of it? But why would my husband want to harm me?Order Drinks
Victor had always been caring. Whenever I became ill, he sat beside me all night. When my father died, he didn’t let go of my
hand for weeks. He worked day and night so Emily and I would never lack anything.
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Yet every evening at nine o’clock, that gentle man disappeared. In his place sat someone who watched every sip I took with
almost desperate intensity. A few weeks later, I poured out the drink again—this time down the sink.
The following morning, Victor stared at me for a long moment.Find Grief Support
“Did you drink
all of it last night?”
“Yes.”
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“Don’t lie to me.”
His voice was low but threatening.
“Have you been watching me?” I asked.
He came closer, gripped my shoulders, and said:
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“If you have ever loved me, never do that again.”
I froze. For the first time, he had admitted that he knew.
