**Diary Entry**
The morning began like any other. The sun hadnt yet risen, but the muffled hum of London waking up drifted through the window. I rubbed my eyes, stretched, and glanced at my husband, James, asleep beside me. He lay on his back, one arm dangling off the bed, his face as relaxed as a childs. In moments like these, I tried to forget the recent arguments, his strange distance, the late nights at work, his constant excuse: *”Just swamped with paperwork.”* I wanted to believe him. I wanted things to be alright.
“Good morning,” I whispered, touching his shoulder.
He startled awake, blinking.
“Already?” he muttered, yawning. “Youre up early.”
“I fancy a coffee,” I smiled. “Fancy breakfast together?”
“Of course,” he nodded, sitting up. “Ill make it.”
I smiled. A rare gesture of care from him lately. Hed been withdrawn, barely helping around the house, and Id chalked it up to exhaustion. But today, he seemed different. Too attentive. Too deliberate.
I showered, and when I returned, the kitchen smelled of fresh coffee. James stood at the table, pouring dark liquid into two mugsmy favourite porcelain one with blue flowers, and his mothers chipped one, left empty.
“Made it special for you,” he said, handing me the cup. “Just how you like ita dash of milk and cinnamon.”
“Thanks,” I smiled, but then caught a strange scent. Not coffee. Something sharp, chemical like bitter almonds.
I frowned.
“Whats that smell? From the coffee?”
James glanced at the cup.
“Dunno. Maybe new grounds? Or the milks off?”
I sniffed again. Bitter almonds. I knew this smell. My grandmother once told me: *Bitter almonds mean cyanide.* Id thought it a tale until I read it in a chemistry book. Cyanide smells like bitter almonds. And its deadly.
My pulse quickened.
“James, are you sure nothings off?” I asked, keeping my voice steady. “Ive allergies, you know. Maybe Ill take the other cup?”
He hesitated. Then smiled.
“Dont be daft. Its just coffee. Drink it before its cold.”
I nodded, but footsteps echoed in the hall. His mother, Margaret, stepped ina stern woman with a sharp tongue who never approved of me. She thought I was *”too common”* for her son.
“Morning,” she said curtly, eyeing the table.
“Morning, Mum,” James kissed her cheek. “Coffees ready.”
He handed her the empty, chipped mug.
“Wheres mine?” she snapped.
“Just pouring,” he said, reaching for the pot.
Then she did what saved my life.
She snatched *my* cup and hissed, *”You can wait.”*
James froze. His eyes flickerednot with fear, not irritation. Disappointment.
“Well? Hurry up,” Margaret said, sipping from my cup. “Dont just stand there gormless.”
James slowly poured coffee into the empty mug.
I sat. My heart pounded. I couldnt take my eyes off Margarets cupthe one that smelled of bitter almonds.
“Too strong,” she grumbled. “But drinkable.”
James stared at his eggs, silent.
Ten minutes later, Margaret winced.
“My stomach feels odd,” she mumbled. “Dizzy, too.”
“You alright?” I asked, fighting panic.
“Yes, just” She set the cup down. “Like I cant breathe.”
She stoodthen swayed. James leapt up.
“Mum! Whats wrong?”
“You you” Her eyes widened. “You meant for *her*”
Then she collapsed.
I screamed. James called an ambulance, shaking her, shouting. I stood numb. It happened too fast. But one thing was clear: hed meant to kill *me*. And she drank it instead.
Paramedics arrived, confirmed cyanide poisoning. Fatal dose. She slipped into a coma.
Police questioned James. *”You poured the coffee. Your prints are on the cup.”*
“I didnt do it!” he shouted. “I loved my mother!”
“Did you love your wife?” the detective asked, glancing at me.
I stayed silent.
Three days later, Margaret died.
At the funeral, James was pale, hollow-eyed. He looked relieved.
After, he confessed.
“I wanted *you* dead,” he whispered. “You knew about the debts. The gambling. The life insurance. Half a million pounds if you died.”
“And your mother?”
“She suspected. Threatened to tell you.”
“Youd have killed me,” I said.
“Yes,” he admitted.
I threw him out. Filed for divorce. Gave the tainted cup to the police.
James got fifteen years.
I moved to a quiet lakeside town. Opened a café called *Almond*.
Customers ask why the name.
“I just like almonds,” I say, pouring their coffee.
Because Ill never forget the morning bitter almonds saved my life.
Now, if someone offers me coffee I didnt brew myself?
I refuse.
Once was enough.
