By the following morning, I had made my decision.
That evening, when Daniel left the kitchen for a few minutes, I poured some of the soup into a small glass jar and hid it in my
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purse. The next day, I took it to a private laboratory. I told an employee that I suspected a foreign substance had been added
to my food. She studied my face for several seconds.
“Do you believe someone may be poisoning you?”
I couldn’t bring myself to answer aloud. I simply nodded. They promised to send me the results in three days.
Those were the longest three days of my life. Every evening at exactly 7:14, Daniel closed the curtains again, brought me the
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soup, and sat beside me. I ate while imagining the worst.
Perhaps he was trying to make me sick. Maybe the soup was the reason I had been constantly tired over the past few weeks.
Perhaps the medical center receipt wasn’t connected to me at all, and he was planning with someone else to get rid of me.
On the third day, the laboratory called.
“Mrs. Carter?”
