I pressed my hands against my mouth.
“I’m not discussing this over the phone,” he continued. “I’ll handle it.”
When he returned to bed, I kept my eyes closed.
He lay beside me for several minutes.
Then he whispered, almost tenderly, “I’m sorry, Margaret.”
I waited until his breathing became slow and regular.
Only then did I allow myself to cry.
The following morning, I called Helen.
I told her everything.
The dizziness. The tea. The bottle. The phone call.
She didn’t interrupt once.
When I finished, she said, “Come to my house.”
“I can’t simply disappear. Daniel will notice.”
“Let him notice.”
“I need proof, Helen.”
“You need to be alive to collect it.”
Her words frightened me because they were exactly what I had been trying not to think.
We agreed that I would visit my doctor again and tell him everything, including the substance I had seen Daniel add to my drink.
