The phone trembles in my hands as I dial the number. My heart pounds so hard it feels ready to leap from my chest. “Liz, I did what you said! I put that powder in her tea. I’m waiting for it to kick in so we can leave. But bloody hell, what was that? You can’t just put something like that in tea! Emily turned pale, she felt sick—like she’d just swallowed poison! How was I supposed to know? I’m not a doctor!” My voice cracks, panic and guilt swirling in my mind. How the hell did I even get here?
It all started a fortnight ago when my life seemed to be falling apart. Emily and I have been married seven years, and the last two have been nothing but cracks and fissures. Constant rows, misunderstandings, her endless nagging—I couldn’t take it anymore. She’d changed—gone was the cheerful, caring girl I’d fallen for, replaced by someone perpetually dissatisfied. I tried talking to her, but every conversation ended in a shouting match. At some point, divorce seemed the only way out. Then Liz came along.
Liz is a colleague at work. We often bumped into each other during tea breaks, and she always knew how to listen. When I started sharing my problems, she didn’t judge—she sympathized. Gradually, our chats grew closer, and I felt at ease with her, a comfort I hadn’t known in ages. One evening, after another blazing row with Emily, I confided in Liz that I didn’t know how to break the cycle. That’s when she suggested something that, at first, sounded absurd. “There’s one way,” she said with a sly grin. “Just slip something into her tea. Nothing bad—just something to help her relax, calm her down. I’ll give you the powder—it’s harmless.” I laughed, thinking she was joking, but Liz was dead serious. She handed me a tiny sachet. “Try it. It can’t hurt.”
I hesitated for ages. Spiking my wife’s tea? It sounded like something from a cheap thriller. But Liz swore it was just a mild sedative, that it would soften Emily, help us mend things. I was so worn down by the arguments that I eventually caved. That morning, while Emily was in the shower, I made her tea and—feeling like a complete idiot—sprinkled in the powder. My hands shook, but I told myself it was fine. Liz said it was safe, didn’t she?
Emily drank her tea, none the wiser. I watched, expecting her to grow drowsy or just unwind, like Liz said she would. But within half an hour, she suddenly went pale, clutched her stomach, and groaned in pain. She slumped onto the sofa, her breathing ragged, and I panicked. “Emily, what’s wrong? Should I call an ambulance?” She just waved me off, muttering that she must’ve eaten something dodgy. I bolted onto the balcony and rang Liz, demanding to know what the hell she’d given me. Her calm voice only made my panic worse: “Oh, James, don’t overreact. It’s just a herbal remedy. Maybe she’s allergic? Give her water—she’ll be fine.” But Emily was getting worse, and a chilling thought took hold: What if it was poison?
I dialled 999 without waiting for it to “pass.” The paramedics arrived swiftly, checked Emily over, and rushed her to hospital. One medic asked if she’d eaten anything unusual or taken any medication. I mumbled that I didn’t know, but my gut twisted with dread. What if they found traces of the powder? What if I’d poisoned my own wife? At the hospital, they told me Emily had severe poisoning but, thankfully, was stable. The doctors didn’t know the cause yet, but my mind was already drowning in guilt.
That evening, I rang Liz again, but my tone had changed. “What did you give me?” I shouted down the line. “Emily almost died! If that was poison, I’ll go straight to the police!” She backpedaled, insisting it was “just a relaxant,” that she’d tried it herself, that I must’ve used too much. But I didn’t believe a word. I remembered how she’d pushed me into this, how she’d assured me it would all be fine, and it hit me—she’d played me. Did she want to wreck my marriage to have me for herself? Or was it something even darker? I didn’t know, but one thing was clear: I’d made a terrible mistake trusting her.
Now Emily’s still in hospital, but the doctors say she’ll recover. I sit in our empty flat, staring at her favourite mug, guilt tearing me apart. I never meant to hurt her—I just wanted us to be happy again. Instead, I nearly lost her. I’ve decided to tell Emily the truth once she’s stronger. Whether she forgives me or not is her choice. And I’m going to find out what that powder really was. If Liz gave me something dangerous, she won’t get away with it.
This mess has taught me one thing: don’t trust anyone else’s word when it comes to those you love. I nearly destroyed my family because I was weak and stupid. Now I’m praying Emily recovers, that we get a chance to fix this. And Liz? She’s never setting foot in our lives again. Sometimes one mistake costs too much—but I hope I still have time to make it right.
