The phone trembled in my hands as I dialled the number. My heart pounded so hard it felt ready to leap from my chest. “Hello, Sophie, I did what you said! I put that powder in her tea. I’m waiting for it to take effect so we can leave. But bloody hell, what was that? You can’t just put something like that in tea! Emily went pale, she felt sick, like she’d just drunk poison! How was I supposed to know that would happen? I’m not a doctor!” My voice cracked, and my mind swirled with panic and guilt. How had I even come to this?
It all started a couple of weeks ago when my life seemed to be falling apart. Emily and I had been married seven years, and for the last few, our marriage had been cracking at the seams. Constant arguments, misunderstandings, her endless nagging—I felt like I couldn’t take it anymore. Emily had changed: the cheerful, caring girl I’d fallen for had become someone perpetually dissatisfied. I tried talking to her, but every conversation ended in a row. At some point, I started thinking divorce was the only way out. Then Sophie came along.
Sophie was a colleague at work. We often crossed paths during tea breaks, and she always had a sympathetic ear. When I began sharing my troubles with her, she didn’t judge—she listened. Gradually, our chats grew closer, and I realised how easy she was to talk to, something I hadn’t felt in years. One day, after yet another row with Emily, I complained to Sophie that I didn’t know how to break free from the vicious cycle. That’s when she suggested something that sounded mad at first. “There’s one way,” she said with a sly smile. “Slip something into her tea. Nothing serious, just something to help her relax, calm down a bit. I’ll give you a powder—it’s harmless.” I laughed, thinking she was joking, but Sophie was dead serious. She handed me a small sachet and said, “Try it. Couldn’t hurt.”
I wrestled with it for ages. Spiking my wife’s tea? It sounded like something from a cheap thriller. But Sophie insisted it was just a mild sedative, that it would help Emily mellow out and give us a chance to fix things. I was so worn down by the fights that I eventually agreed. That morning, while Emily was showering, I made her tea and, feeling like a complete idiot, sprinkled in a pinch of powder. My hands shook, but I told myself it wasn’t a big deal. Sophie had said it was safe, right?
Emily drank her tea as usual, suspecting nothing. I watched her, expecting her to grow drowsy or just unwind, like Sophie had promised. But half an hour later, she suddenly turned pale, clutched her stomach, and said she felt awful. She lay on the sofa, her breathing heavy, and I panicked. “Emily, what’s wrong? Should I call an ambulance?” I asked, but she just waved me off, saying she must’ve eaten something dodgy. I rushed onto the balcony and called Sophie, demanding to know what the hell she’d given me. Her calm voice only made me panic more: “Oh, James, don’t worry—it’s just a herbal remedy. Maybe she’s allergic? Give her some water; she’ll be fine.” But I could see Emily worsening, and a terrifying thought gripped me—what if it was poison?
I called an ambulance without waiting for it to “pass.” The paramedics arrived quickly, checked Emily over, and rushed her to hospital. One of them asked if she’d eaten anything unusual or taken any medication. I mumbled that I didn’t know, but my stomach twisted with dread. What if they found traces of the powder? What if I’d poisoned her? At the hospital, they told me Emily had severe poisoning but, thank God, she’d stabilised. The doctors didn’t yet know the cause, but all I could think about was my own guilt.
That evening, I called Sophie again, but my tone was nowhere near as calm. “What the hell did you give me?” I shouted down the line. “They barely saved Emily! If this was poison, I’m telling the police!” Sophie backpedalled, swearing it was “just a sedative,” that she’d taken it herself, and I must’ve got the dose wrong. But I didn’t believe a word. I remembered how she’d nudged me into this, how she’d reassured me, and realised she’d manipulated me. Maybe she wanted to wreck our marriage to have me for herself? Or was it something even worse? 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, torn apart by guilt. 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 as soon as she’s strong enough. It’ll be her choice whether to forgive me. And I’m going to find out what that powder really was—if Sophie gave me something dangerous, she won’t get away with it.
This whole mess taught me one thing: you can’t trust someone else’s word when it comes to the people you love. I nearly destroyed my family because of my own weakness and stupidity. Now I’m praying Emily recovers, and that we get a chance to fix things. As for Sophie? She’ll never meddle in our lives again. Sometimes one mistake costs more than you can afford—but I hope I’ve still got time to make it right.
