The phone trembled in my hands as I dialed the number. My heart pounded so violently it felt ready to burst from my chest. “Hello, Sophie, I did what you said! I slipped that powder into her tea. I waited for it to take effect so we could 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 swallowed poison! How was I supposed to know this would happen? I’m not a doctor!” My voice cracked, my mind spinning with panic and guilt. How had I even let it come to this?
It all began two weeks ago, when my life seemed to be falling apart. Emily and I had been married seven years, and the last couple had strained our marriage to breaking point. Endless arguments, misunderstandings, her constant nitpicking—I couldn’t take it anymore. Emily had changed: from the cheerful, caring girl I’d fallen for, she’d 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 into the picture.
Sophie was a colleague. We often crossed paths during tea breaks, and she always listened without judgment. When I first shared my troubles, she didn’t lecture me—she sympathised. Gradually, our chats grew closer, and with her, I felt at ease in a way I hadn’t in years. One evening, after another blazing row with Emily, I confided in Sophie, admitting I didn’t know how to escape this vicious cycle. That was when she suggested something outrageous. “There’s a way,” she said with a sly smile. “Slip something into her tea. Nothing dangerous, just a little something to help her relax, mellow out. I’ll give you the powder—it’s harmless.” I laughed, thinking she was joking, but Sophie was dead serious. She pressed a small sachet into my hand. “Try it. Can’t hurt.”
I wrestled with doubt. Spiking my wife’s tea? It sounded like something from a cheap thriller. But Sophie swore it was just a herbal relaxant, that it would soften Emily’s edges and mend things between us. I was so worn down by the fighting that, in a moment of weakness, I agreed. That morning, while Emily showered, I brewed her tea and, feeling like a complete fool, sprinkled in a pinch of powder. My hands shook, but I told myself it wasn’t a big deal. Sophie promised it was safe. Right?
Emily drank the tea, unsuspecting. I watched her closely, waiting for drowsiness or calm—the effects Sophie had described. But within half an hour, she turned ghostly pale, clutched her stomach, and gasped that she felt ill. She collapsed onto the sofa, her breathing laboured. Panic surged through me. “Emily, what’s wrong? Should I call an ambulance?” She only waved me off, muttering that she must have eaten something bad. I rushed to the balcony and dialed Sophie, demanding to know what the hell she’d given me. Her casual tone only fueled my terror. “Oh, James, don’t fret, it’s just herbal stuff. Maybe she’s allergic? Get her some water, she’ll be fine.” But Emily was getting worse, and a horrifying thought took root—what if it was poison?
I called 999 without waiting for it to “pass.” The paramedics arrived swiftly, examined Emily, and whisked her to hospital. One medic asked if she’d ingested anything unusual or taken medication. I mumbled that I didn’t know, but cold dread gripped me. What if they found traces of the powder? What if I’d poisoned my own wife? At the hospital, they said 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 guilt.
That night, I called Sophie again, but now my voice was raw with fury. “What did you give me?” I spat into the phone. “They barely saved Emily! If this was poison, I’ll go straight to the police!” She backpedalled, insisting it was “just a relaxant,” that she’d taken it herself, that I must have misjudged the dose. But I wasn’t buying it. I remembered how she’d nudged me toward this, how she’d sworn it was harmless, and realised she’d played me. Had she wanted to wreck my marriage to have me for herself? Or was it something even darker? I didn’t know, but one thing was clear: trusting her had been a colossal mistake.
Now Emily’s still in hospital, though the doctors say she’ll recover. I sit in our empty flat, staring at her favourite mug, torn apart by remorse. 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. She can choose whether to forgive me. And I’ll find out what that powder really was—if Sophie knowingly gave me something dangerous, she won’t get away with it.
This whole mess taught me one thing: never trust an outsider with the people you love. I almost destroyed my family through weakness and stupidity. Now, I’m praying Emily recovers, praying we get a second chance. And Sophie? She’ll never meddle in our lives again. Some mistakes cost too much—but I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure this one doesn’t define us.
