He had been tracking when I left for work, when I came home, what I ate for breakfast and dinner, like I was some kind of science experiment.
I took pictures of everything with my phone and put the bottles back exactly where I found them.
My hands were shaking so bad I could barely hold my phone steady.
That evening, Marcus made dinner like always, grilled chicken with rice and vegetables.
He served my plate first, smiling at me like the loving husband he pretended to be.
“Eat up, honey,” he said. “You need to get your strength back.”
I pushed the food around on my plate, pretending to eat while watching Marcus carefully.
He seemed nervous, checking his phone every few minutes and glancing at me to see if I was actually eating.
When he got up to use the bathroom, I quickly scraped most of my food into a napkin and hid it in my purse.
