Six months earlier, I had believed marrying Daniel would give me a second chance at happiness.
Instead, it had nearly cost me my life.
Now I understood something I wished I had learned sooner.
Love does not demand that you ignore your instincts. It does not require you to surrender your independence, conceal your fears, or accept unexplained changes in your health.
And anyone who insists that you drink something, sign something, or trust them without question is asking for something far more dangerous than affection.
They are asking for control.
I was sixty-four years old.
I had buried a husband, survived loneliness, rebuilt my life, and opened my heart when the world expected me to settle quietly into old age.
I would not allow Daniel—or the person behind him—to decide how my story ended.
I picked up my tea again.
This time, no one was watching me drink it.
