Daniel insisted I was simply adjusting to a new lifestyle.
“You’ve been distracted lately,” he would say gently.
Before long, he started answering questions for me during conversations with friends.
“Margaret needs more rest these days,” he’d explain.
I gradually stopped trusting my own judgment.
One afternoon, Helen visited.
“You look exhausted,” she observed.
“It’s nothing.”
“And you seem distracted.”
“Probably too much coffee.”
She took my hand.
“Margaret, are you happy?”
I hesitated.
“Sometimes I don’t feel like myself anymore.”
Helen looked concerned.
“You should speak with your own doctor.”
Before I could respond, Daniel appeared in the doorway carrying flowers.
His smile briefly faded when Helen suggested an independent appointment.
Then he quickly recovered.
“Of course,” he said. “I’ll arrange one.”
But the appointment never happened.
That evening, I walked into the kitchen unexpectedly.
Daniel stood beside my cup, adding several drops from a small dark bottle to the warm milk.
I stopped.
