The morning began as usual. Outside the window, dawn hadnt yet broken, but the muffled sounds of the waking city were already drifting in. I opened my eyes, stretched, and glanced at the man sleeping beside meDaniel. He lay on his back, one arm dangling off the bed, his face relaxed like a childs. In moments like these, I tried not to dwell on our recent arguments, his strange detachment, the way hed started coming home late from work, muttering, *Just busy, thats all.* I wanted to believe him. I wanted everything to be fine.
*Good morning,* I whispered, touching his shoulder.
He flinched, eyelids fluttering open.
*Already?* he mumbled, yawning. *Youre up early.*
*Fancy some coffee?* I smiled. *Maybe breakfast together?*
*Sure,* he nodded, sitting up. *Ill make it.*
I smiled. It was a rare show of care from him lately. Hed hardly lifted a finger around the house for weeks, and Id chalked it up to exhaustion. But today, he seemed different. Too attentive. Too deliberate.
I slipped into the shower, and when I returned, the kitchen smelled of freshly brewed coffee. Daniel stood at the table, pouring the dark liquid into two mugsone, my favourite porcelain cup with blue flowers, the other, the chipped one his mother always used.
*Made it special for you,* he said, handing me mine. *Just how you like ita dash of milk and cinnamon.*
*Thanks,* I smiled, but then my nose caught a strange scent. Not coffee. Something sharp, chemical with a hint of bitter almonds.
I frowned. *Whats that smell? From the coffee?*
Daniel glanced at the cup. *Dunno. Maybe the beans? Or the milks off?*
I sniffed again. Bitter almonds. I knew that smell. My grandmother once told me: if something reeks of bitter almonds, its cyanide. Id laughed it off until I read about it in a chemistry textbook. Cyanide kills. And it smells *exactly* like this.
My heart pounded.
*Dan, youre sure nothings off?* I asked, keeping my voice light. *Im allergic to some additives. Maybe Ill take the other cup?*
He froze for a second. Then smiled. *Dont be daft. Its just coffee. Drink it before its cold.*
I nodded, but footsteps echoed in the hallway. His motherMargaretemerged from her room. A stern woman with ice in her gaze, shed never warmed to me. I was *not good enough* for her son, *too common* for their family.
*Morning,* she clipped, stepping to the table.
*Mum,* Daniel kissed her cheek. *Coffees ready. Heres your mug.* He handed her the empty, chipped one.
*Wheres mine?* she scowled.
*Ill pour it now,* he said, reaching for the pot.
Then she did what saved my life.
She snatched *my* cup off the table and hissed, *Youll wait.* Her eyes locked onto minepure loathing.
Daniel went still. His pupils dilated. When he looked at me, I didnt see panic. Not even anger. Just disappointment.
*Quit dawdling,* Margaret snapped, sipping from my cup. *Pour the damn coffee.*
Daniel slowly filled her chipped mug. I sat, heart hammering, unable to tear my eyes from the cup in her hands. The one that smelled of almonds.
*Too strong,* she muttered. *But drinkable.*
Daniel stared at his plate, fork scraping eggs. Silent.
Ten minutes later, Margaret winced.
*Stomachs off* she slurred. *Heads spinning.*
*You alright?* I asked, fighting panic.
*Feels like cant breathe*
She collapsed.
I screamed. Daniel lunged for her, shouting for an ambulance. Paramedics arrivedtwenty minutes too late. One sniffed the cup.
*Cyanide poisoning,* he said. *High concentration. Shes comatose. Slim chance.*
Daniel paled. *II just made coffee*
*Where dyou keep the beans?* the paramedic pressed.
*Cupboard but its a new bag*
The beans were clean. The poison had been in *my* cup.
Police came. Questions flew.
*You poured the coffee,* the detective said to Daniel. *You handed her the cup.*
*Id never hurt my mum!* he shouted.
*But your wife?* The detectives eyes flicked to me.
I stayed silent.
Later, alone, I hid the cup in a bag. Three days later, Margaret died. Cyanide destroys brain cells in minutes.
At the funeral, Daniel looked hollow. Not grieving*relieved*.
*I know what you think,* he whispered after. *But I didnt mean to kill Mum. I meant to kill *you*.*
No shock. Just a nod. *Why?*
*You knew. About the debts. The gambling. The insurance payout if you died£250,000. Enough to start over.*
*And your mother?*
*She found out. Threatened to tell you.*
I stared at the man Id loved for five years. *Youd have murdered me.*
*Yes,* he said. *But not her.*
*Get out,* I said.
He left. I filed for divorce. The cups forensic report sealed itcyanide, his fingerprints.
He got fifteen years.
I moved to a lakeside town, opened a café called *Almond*. Customers ask about the name.
*I just like almonds,* I say, pouring their coffee.
No scent. No fear. Just hope.
But if someone offers me coffee *theyve* made?
I always refuse.
Because once, I chose the right cup.
And it saved my life.
