I pretended to sip. I praised him. Then I apologized.
In the kitchen, with shaking hands, I poured some into the jar.
Then I threw the rest in the sink and let the water run hard, as if it could wash away what I knew.
I did this for three nights in a row.
On the fourth day, Evan found me in a parking lot and gave me a report.
A word rang out like a gunshot:
ARSENIC.
Low dose. Cumulative. Organ damage. Death within months.
I didn't collapse out of weakness
I gave up because of betrayal.
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