The phone trembles in my hands as I dial the number. My heart pounds so hard it feels like it might burst out of my chest. “Hello, Emily, I did what you said! I put that powder in her coffee. I was waiting for it to kick in so I could leave. But bloody hell, what was that? You can’t just put something like that in coffee! Katie turned pale, she got sick, like she’d just swallowed poison! How was I supposed to know that would happen? I’m not a doctor!” My voice cracks, and my mind swirls with panic and guilt. How did I even get to this point?
It all started a couple of weeks ago, when my life seemed to be falling apart. Katie and I have been married for seven years, and the last couple of years, our marriage has been cracking at the seams. Constant arguments, misunderstandings, her endless nagging—I felt like I couldn’t take it anymore. Katie had changed: from the cheerful, caring girl I fell in love with, she’d turned into someone who was always unhappy about something. I tried talking to her, but every conversation ended in a row. At some point, I started thinking divorce was the only way out. But then Emily came along.
Emily is a colleague from work. We often crossed paths during coffee breaks, and she always knew how to listen. When I started sharing my problems with her, she didn’t judge—she sympathised. Gradually, our chats grew closer, and I realised I felt at ease with her in a way I hadn’t in years. One evening, after yet another row with Katie, I complained to Emily that I didn’t know how to break the cycle. That’s when she came up with an idea that at first sounded crazy. “There’s a way,” she said with a sly smile. “Put something in her coffee. Nothing serious, just a little something to help her relax, calm her down. I’ll give you the powder—it’s harmless.” I laughed, thinking she was joking, but Emily looked dead serious. She handed me a small sachet and said, “Try it. It can’t make things worse.”
I hesitated for ages. Spiking my wife’s coffee? It sounded like something out of a cheap thriller. But Emily insisted it was just a mild sedative, that it would help Katie soften up and give us a chance to fix things. I was so worn out from the fighting that I eventually agreed. That morning, while Katie was in the shower, I made her coffee and, feeling like a complete idiot, sprinkled a pinch of the powder into her cup. My hands shook, but I convinced myself it wasn’t a big deal. Emily had said it was safe, hadn’t she?
Katie drank her coffee as usual, suspecting nothing. I watched her, expecting her to maybe get drowsy or just mellow out, like Emily promised. But half an hour later, she suddenly went pale, clutched her stomach, and said she felt ill. She lay on the sofa, her breathing heavy, while I panicked. “Katie, what’s wrong? Should I call an ambulance?” I asked, but she just waved me off, mumbling that she must have eaten something off. I rushed out to the balcony and called Emily, demanding to know what the hell she’d given me. Her calm voice only made me panic more: “Oh, James, don’t overreact. It’s just a herbal remedy. Maybe she’s allergic? Give her some water—she’ll be fine.” But I could see Katie getting worse, and a terrifying thought gnawed at me: what if it was poison?
I called 999 without waiting to see if it would “pass.” The paramedics arrived quickly, checked Katie over, and took her straight to hospital. One of them asked if she’d eaten anything unusual or taken any medication. I muttered that I didn’t know, but inside, I was sick with dread. What if they found traces of the powder? What if I’d poisoned my own wife? At the hospital, they told me Katie had severe food poisoning but had been stabilised. The doctors weren’t sure what caused it yet, but all I could think about was my own guilt.
That evening, I called Emily again, but this time, my tone was different. “What the hell did you give me?” I shouted down the line. “They barely saved Katie! If that was poison, I’ll go straight to the police!” Emily started backpedalling, swearing it was “just a relaxant,” that she’d taken it herself, and that I must have messed up the dose. But I didn’t believe a word. I remembered how she’d pushed me into this, how she’d assured me everything would be fine, and I realised she’d been manipulating me. Maybe she wanted to wreck my 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.
Right now, Katie’s still in hospital, but the doctors say she’ll recover. I’m sitting 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. But instead, I nearly lost her. I’ve decided I’ll tell Katie the truth as soon as she’s strong enough. Let her decide whether to forgive me. And I’m going to find out what that powder really was—if Emily slipped me something dangerous, I won’t let her get away with it.
This whole mess has taught me one thing: you can’t trust someone else’s word when it comes to the people you love. I almost destroyed my family because of my own weakness and stupidity. Now, I’m praying Katie recovers and that we get a chance to fix things. And Emily? She’s never setting foot in our lives again. Sometimes one mistake can cost you everything—but I hope I’ve still got time to make it right.
