His body trembles violently. White foam comes out of his mouth like a sick animal. His eyes are wide open, staring at me, but I know he doesn’t see me anymore.
He’s trying to say something, but only a few strange drowning sounds come out.
This whole thing is wrong.
Completely wrong.
Thirty minutes ago we were sitting at the dining table like any Tuesday night.
Marcus had prepared his famous tomato soup, the same recipe his mother taught him when we started going out in college.
Tonight he was especially affectionate, telling me how much he loved me and how lucky he was to have such a successful wife.
But I saw what he did.
When Marcus thought he wasn’t looking at it, I saw him take a small glass bottle out of his pocket. He poured a clear liquid into my bowl of soup.
It looked like water, but I knew it wasn’t.
My heart started beating so fast that I thought it was going to explode in my chest.
Marcus has been behaving strangely for weeks.
Always asking about my business accounts, my life insurance and who would take care of my hotels if anything happened to me.
I own three boutique hotels here in Chicago, two in Miami and one in Los Angeles. It’s worth millions of dollars.
But watching him put something in my food made everything fit in like a horrible puzzle.
When his phone rang, Marcus got up from a jump from the table.
I’m sorry, honey, it’s work. I’ll be right back,” he said, entering the room to answer the call.
That’s when I did it.
I quickly changed our bowls of soup.
My hands trembled so much that I almost fell off, but I managed to put my bowl where mine was and my bowl where his was.
Then I sat down again and tried to look normal, although I felt my whole body was burning in fear.
Marcus came back a few minutes later, smiling at me like nothing happened.
“I’m sorry. The job never stops, you know?”
We both started eating our soup.
Marcus talked about his day, I was asking about my meetings in downtown Chicago, behaving like the perfect husband, but I could barely taste anything.
I kept watching his face, waiting for something to happen.
And then it happened.
About twenty minutes after he finished eating, Marcus suddenly stopped talking.
I was talking about a boring report that had to end, and suddenly it was out of words.
His face turned very pale, as if all the blood had gone.
“I don’t feel good,” he whispered, taking his hand to his stomach.
Then he started to sweat.
Large drops of sweat were running down his face, even though our house was not hot.
He tried to get up from the chair, but his legs failed him and he dropped appropariously to the kitchen floor.
That’s when the tremor began.
Now I’m watching my husband die, whom I’ve been married to five years, for the poison that put my soup on.
The same poison that should have killed me.
I should call 911, but I can’t move.
I can’t even breathe well.
Marcus’ phone is vibrating over the counter.
I can see the screen from where I am.
It’s a text message from someone named S who says, “Is it done yet? Call me when you’re gone.”
