The next morning, I made a decision.
I needed to know what was inside that soup.
I couldn’t ask Daniel anymore.
I couldn’t trust his answers.
So I would find out myself.
That evening, I waited.
7:10.
Daniel was in the kitchen.
7:11.
I heard the sound of a spoon against a pot.
7:12.
He began preparing the bowl.
7:13.
I pretended to be watching television.
Then the clock changed.
7:14.
The curtains closed.
Daniel brought the soup.
I smiled at him.
“Thank you.”
He sat down.
I lifted the spoon.
But this time, I had a plan.
I took several spoonfuls while he watched.
Then I pretended to cough.
“I need some water.”
Daniel stood up.
“I’ll get it.”
He walked toward the kitchen.
The moment he disappeared around the corner, I grabbed the bowl.
My hands were shaking.
I quickly poured some of the soup into a small glass jar I had hidden inside my purse.
Then I placed the bowl exactly where it had been.
I wiped the edge of the jar carefully.
Daniel returned.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes.”
He looked at the bowl.
Then at me.
“Finish it.”
I forced myself to smile.
“I will.”
That night, I barely slept.
The jar was hidden beneath some clothes in my bag.
The next morning, I left the house before Daniel knew where I was going.
I went to a private laboratory.
The receptionist looked at me.
“What would you like tested?”
I placed the jar on the counter.
“I need to know what’s inside this.”
She examined the container.
“Food analysis?”
“Yes.”
I swallowed.
“I think someone may have added something to it.”
Her expression changed.
“Do you believe someone may be poisoning you?”
I couldn’t say the word.
Poisoning.
Hearing it aloud made everything suddenly real.
I simply nodded.
She asked me to complete some paperwork.
Then she took the sample away.
“Results should be available in approximately three days.”
Three days.
It sounded like nothing.
But for me, it felt like an eternity.
I went home and pretended everything was normal.
Daniel asked where I had been.
“Running errands.”
He watched me carefully.
Then he nodded.
That evening, the routine continued.
7:14.
Curtains closed.
Soup arrived.
I ate.
But now every spoonful terrified me.
What if the laboratory found poison?
What if Daniel really was trying to hurt me?
What if the strange tiredness I had been experiencing wasn’t stress at all?
I began remembering every strange thing that had happened over the previous weeks.
The dizziness.
The exhaustion.
The headaches.
The moments when I felt as though my heart was beating too fast.
The way Daniel watched me eat.
The way he checked the bowl afterward.
The medical center receipt.
The deleted searches.
His secret phone calls.
And the night he stood beside our bed watching me breathe.
I started imagining the worst.
Maybe Daniel wanted me gone.
Maybe he had met someone else.
Maybe he was preparing to make my death look natural.
Every possibility seemed terrifying.
The following evening, I barely touched the soup.
Daniel noticed.
“You haven’t eaten.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You need to finish it.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s important.”
“Important for what?”
He looked at me.
For the first time, I saw something in his eyes that I couldn’t understand.
Fear.
Not anger.
Not hatred.
Fear.
But fear of what?
“Please,” he whispered.
I finished the bowl.
That night, I cried quietly in the bathroom so Daniel wouldn’t hear me.
I stared at myself in the mirror.
My face looked thinner.
My skin looked pale.
I placed a hand over my stomach.
I didn’t know why I did it.
I simply did.
And for a strange moment, I felt something I couldn’t explain.
A tiny flicker of hope.
Then I pushed the thought away.
I was terrified.
I didn’t know that my entire life was about to change.
