A year passed as I withered away from an unknown illness, and just yesterday I saw my daughterinlaw sprinkling white powder into my sugar bowl.
It sat in its usual spot, yet now it looked like a hideous dish about to spew poison.
Just the day before, I watched Alina, my sons wife, with an angelic smile tip a tiny packet of white powder from her fingers into that bowl.
One year. For twelve months I faded, becoming a shadowweakness, brain fog, constant nausea that doctors dismissed as agerelated changes and psychosomatic.
I almost believed them. The cause of my decline wasnt age; it was on the kitchen table.
Mom, you havent eaten again? Alinas voice sounded sickly sweet, coating and choking. You need strength. Dima is so worried.
She placed a bowl of oatmeal in front of me. A spoon of sugar sat white in the thick masstaken from that same sugar bowl.
I watched the granules melt and felt a chill crawl down my spine.
Thank you, Alina. I just dont feel like eating, I said, my voice hoarse yet oddly firm.
Oh, youre starting again! We agreed youd listen to mefor Dimas sake.
She sat opposite me with perfect manicured nails and compassionate dark eyes. For a moment I doubtedmaybe it was just a sick imagination?
But I clearly remembered her swift, furtive movement by the table while she thought I was still in bed. She wasnt smiling then.
Alina, we need to talk, I began, pushing the plate away.
Of course, mother. Im all ears.
I think you and Dima should live separately. You have your own apartment.
Her smile didnt waver, but her gaze hardened, assessingas if looking at a broken appliance.
How can we leave you? In your condition? You cant even take a step without us. Dima will never allow it. He loves you too much.
She said love with a pressure that made it sound like an undeniable trump card. And indeed, it was.
My son, Dima, saw this woman as a guardian angel for his helpless mother.
I just want peace, I said sincerely.
Thats not you speaking, its your disease, she cut gently. Well get you on your feet. By the way, Dima found a wonderful notary. We decided its time to arrange a gift deed.
So later, you know therell be fewer hassles. Only for your peace.
She talked about my future, my death, as casually as buying bread a predator nearly driving its prey to extinction.
Ill think about it.
That evening, after waiting for them to leave for the cinema, I put on gloves and poured the entire content of the sugar bowl into a bag.
In the trash can I found the same tiny packet Alina had used for the powder. It wasnt empty.
A small amount of the substance remained. I carefully transferred it into an empty medicine bottle and hid it.
Now I knew the battle was not for life but for death. I was no longer weak; I had become a mother protecting her blinded son.
My existence turned into a spy thriller. I ate only what I cooked myself, locking myself in the kitchen.
Whenever Alina asked, I replied with a smile, Ive decided to go on a diet, dear. The doctor suggested it. I took pills only from packages I opened myself.
Alina watched. Her mask of care began to crack. One day I saw her swap my bloodpressure tablets for lookalikes.
Oh, mother, I just wanted to help you sort them into boxes, and you mixed everything up, she chirped when I caught her hand.
That night I had a tense talk with my son.
Mom, whats happening? Alina says youre paranoid. Youre accusing her of mixing your meds. Do you realize how upset she is? She stays up at night looking for the best doctors for you, and you
Dima, shes deceiving me.
Stop! he snapped, standing up. It would be much easier for her to stay in her apartment than to mess with you! She does this out of love for meand for you! Why cant you just accept our care?
I looked at him and understood he wasnt hearing. He was echoing her words, her tone. Any attempt to open his eyes would be dismissed as senile rambling.
The climax arrived the day the notary came, unannounced.
Surprise, mother! Alina sang. This is Petro Serhiyovych. Weve decided not to delay the deed.
Dima stood nearby, averting his gaze, embarrassed yet compliant. They surrounded me.
I set the book down slowly.
What a strange coincidence. This morning I spoke with an old acquaintance, Igor Matviyovich, a lawyer. He advised me, given my condition, to record all legal discussions. Any agreement signed under pressure or with a vulnerable person can be contested. I pointed to an old pushbutton phone on the table; a tiny red light indicated recording.
Alinas face changed in an instant. Her smile slipped, revealing a predatory grimace.
Why? she hissed.
Just for my own protection, I replied, turning to my son. Dima, I wont sign anything. Petro Serhiyovych, sorry for wasting your time.
A flash of hatred crossed Alinas eyes. She realized the rules had shifted.
After that, she lay low, but I sensed it was merely a lull. She would strike again soon. Returning from a clinic, exhausted and irritable, I found my bedroom door ajar and heard the familiar rustle of torn paper.
Alina sat on the floor, shredding my letters, photos, Dimas childhood drawingseverything that comprised my life. She wasnt cleaning; she was erasing my existence.
Whats the point of this junk? she threw, not looking back. Soon it wont matter anyway.
Something died inside me, and at the same moment something new and icy, as sharp as a blade, was born. Enough.
Silently I went to the kitchen. My hands didnt shake. I took the bottle, poured the powder into a cup, added hot water. When I returned, Alina stared warily.
I brought tea. You look tired, she said.
Afraid? I smiled. Good.
I dialed a numbernot my sons, but the lawyers.
Igor Matviyovich, Im ready. Doing as you suggested.
Then I called Dima.
Son, come home immediately! Alina has locked herself in my room, screaming she cant live any longer, shes taken something!
My voice trembled. Alina flinched.
What are you babbling, old witch?!
Shes unconscious! The cup is broken! I shouted, throwing the tea cup onto the floor.
Alina froze, staring at the spill. She finally understood, but it was too late. I sat in a chair and waited.
Dima burst into the room, pale as a wall. His eyes darted from me to Alina, to the shards, to the ripped photos.
Mom? What happened?
She tried to poison me! Alina shrieked. Shes mad! She wanted to kill me!
Is that true, mother? Dimas voice quivered.
I stepped to him silently.
Look, son. Not at me. At the floor. Heres your first alphabet book. Heres a letter from Dad from the hospital. She wasnt destroying meshe was destroying you.
Dima bent, picked up the torn piece. His face turned to stone.
Alina why?
This was junk! I wanted to help! she yelled.
Is this also help? I held out the bottle of powder. A year, Dima. A whole year she fed me this.
Recall how she accidentally lost good doctors prescriptions, how she refused to take me for examinations in another city. Remember!
He stared at the bottle, then at his wife. Offense, disgust, shock reshaped his comprehension.
Is this true? he whispered.
Alina remained silent. She had lost.
A knock sounded at the doornot police, but Igor Matviyovich with two burly men, followed by investigators he had summoned earlier.
I am the attorney for Anna Viktorivna, he introduced. I request documentation of the attempted poisoning and possible fraud. There are grounds to believe that Alina systematically harmed my clients health to seize her property. Please seize the bottle and floor samples.
Alina collapsed to the floor, not from remorse but from collapse.
Dima and I were left alone. He knelt, gathering fragments, his shoulders trembling. I didnt try to comfort him; I simply sat beside him and helped. Both of us paid a steep price for the revelation, but sometimes thats the only way out of a sweet, deadly trap.
Three years have passed. Occasionally I feel that terrifying story happened to someone else, not me. I look in the mirror and see not a wornout shadow but a strong woman with clear eyes.
Health returned slowly, bringing with it a quiet, soulful peacethe most valuable kind.
Alina received a real prison term for attempted murder motivated by greed.
Dima spent a long time carrying the weight of betrayal. We talked a lot, sometimes through tears. He begged forgiveness for not seeing, not hearing, not believing. I held no grudge. He was a victim toohurt not by poison but by a blow to the heart.
That scar stayed with him forever, but it made him wiser, more attentive. A year ago he brought Katya to mea quiet, sincere girl with warm eyes.
I watched her anxiously, subconsciously searching for deceit, but found none. Katya didnt try to please me or pretend. She simply was. She brought favorite books, sat silently beside me, and we watched the window togetherthe silence was comforting.
Today is Sunday. The apartment smells of baked apples and cinnamonKatya is making a charlotte from my recipe.
Anna Viktorivna, look, the cake has risen? I hear her say.
I walk into the kitchenshe and Dima stand by the oven. He puts his arm around her shoulders, and they stare at the cake as if it were a miracle. Their happiness isnt showy; its genuine, filled with trust.
The cake rose well, dear, indeed, I smile. Just dont open the oven too early.
I remember. You said its temperamental.
She remembers. She hears. To her, my experience isnt trash; its value.
We sit for tea. Dima places a new sugar bowl on the tableplain and white. I calmly drop a spoonful of sugar into my cup. Fear has vanished, leaving only the understanding of what people are capable of. Yet alongside that came another giftknowledge of true warmth.
Mom, we thought, Dima says, holding Katyas hand. Maybe we could go to the dacha this weekend? All together.
I look at my son, who now sees deeper. At his wife, who brought light. I realize we werent broken; we were cleansed.
And this quiet, authentic happiness is the greatest reward.
