“Then let me see the bottle.”
His expression tightened, and he quickly moved the container away before handing me the cup.
“Margaret, you’re worrying about nothing. Please drink it before it gets cold.”
I wanted to demand an explanation, but his familiar smile made me question my suspicions. Reluctantly, I accepted the drink, telling myself that the man who’d treated me so lovingly couldn’t possibly intend to harm me.
The following morning, I woke feeling more exhausted than ever. Daniel was sitting beside the bed, watching me with an expression I couldn’t understand.
“How are you feeling?”
“Not very well.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
“I’m sorry.”
I stared at him, confused by the strange sadness in his voice.
“Sorry for what?”
Daniel hesitated before answering.
“That you’re having such a difficult morning.”
Something about his response frightened me. For the first time since our wedding, I began wondering whether my husband’s concern for my health was genuine, or whether he already knew exactly why I was getting worse.
