I made an appointment for the next week, but deep down, I was starting to suspect that my sickness wasn’t natural.
That weekend, while Marcus was supposedly at his office in the Loop, I decided to search our house.
I started in his home office, going through every drawer and cabinet.
Most of it was normal stuff, bills, work papers, old photos of us from happier times.
But then I found his workshop in our basement.
Marcus had always been handy, fixing things around the house and building furniture.
But hidden behind his toolbox, I found something that made my heart stop beating for a moment.
Three small glass bottles with clear liquid inside.
They had no labels, but they smelled like nothing at all.
Just like the liquid I had seen him pour into my soup that terrible night.
Next to the bottles was a notebook with my daily schedule written in Marcus’s handwriting.
