The Mistake That Changed Everything
The phone trembled in my hands as I dialed the number. My heart pounded as if it might burst from my chest. “Hello, Sophie, I did what you said! I slipped that powder into her tea. I was waiting for it to kick in so I could leave. But bloody hell, what was it? You can’t just put something like that in tea! Emily went pale, she felt sick, like she’d just drunk poison! How was I supposed to know that would happen? I’m not a doctor!” My voice cracked, a whirlwind of panic and guilt spinning in my head. How had I even gotten to this point?
It all started a fortnight ago, when my life seemed to be crumbling. Emily and I had been married seven years, and lately, our marriage was hanging by a thread. Constant arguments, misunderstandings, her endless nitpicking—I felt like I couldn’t take it anymore. Emily had changed: from the cheerful, caring woman I’d fallen in love with, she’d turned into 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 along.
Sophie was a colleague at work. We often crossed paths during tea breaks, and she always knew how to listen. When I began sharing my troubles, she didn’t judge—she sympathized. Gradually, our chats grew closer, and I found myself at ease with her in a way I hadn’t been in years. One evening, after yet another blow-up with Emily, I complained to Sophie that I didn’t know how to break the cycle. That’s when she suggested something that sounded utterly mad at first. “There’s one way,” she said with a sly smile. “Slip something into her tea. Nothing serious, just something to help her relax, mellow out a bit. I’ll give you a powder—it’s harmless.” I laughed, thinking she was joking, but Sophie looked dead serious. She handed me a small sachet and said, “Give it a go—can’t hurt, can it?”
I wavered for ages. Slipping something into my wife’s tea? It sounded like a plot from a cheap thriller. But Sophie swore it was just a sedative, that it would soften Emily, help us patch things up. I was so worn down by the arguing that, in a moment of weakness, I agreed. The next morning, while Emily was in the shower, I brewed her tea and, feeling like the world’s biggest fool, tipped in a pinch of that powder. My hands shook, but I told myself it wasn’t a big deal. Sophie had said it was safe, hadn’t she?
Emily drank her tea, unsuspecting. I watched her, expecting drowsiness or calm, like Sophie had promised. But within the hour, she turned ghostly pale, clutched her stomach, and muttered that she felt ill. She slumped onto the sofa, her breath labored, and I panicked. “Emily, what’s wrong? Should I call an ambulance?” But she just waved me off, blaming bad takeaway. I rushed to the balcony and rang Sophie, demanding to know what the hell she’d given me. Her calm voice only made it worse: “Oh, James, don’t fret—it’s just herbal. Maybe she’s allergic? Give her water, she’ll be fine.” But Emily was getting worse, and a terrible thought gnawed at me—what if it was poison?
I called 999, unwilling to wait for it to “pass.” The paramedics arrived fast, examined Emily, and whisked her straight to hospital. One medic asked if she’d eaten anything odd or taken any pills. I mumbled that I didn’t know, but my insides twisted with dread. What if they found traces of that powder? What if I’d poisoned my own wife? At A&E, they said Emily had severe poisoning but, thank God, she’d stabilised. The doctors didn’t know the cause yet, but all I could think about was my guilt.
That night, I called Sophie again, but my tone had changed. “What did you give me?” I hissed. “Emily nearly died! If that was poison, I’ll go straight to the police!” She backpedaled, claiming it was “just a relaxant,” that she’d taken it herself, that I must’ve overdosed her. But I wasn’t buying it. I remembered how she’d nudged me into this, how she’d sworn it was harmless, and realised she’d played me. Maybe she wanted to wreck our marriage to have me for herself? Or 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 pull through. I sit in our empty flat, staring at her favourite mug, gutted by guilt. 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 slipped me something lethal, she won’t get away with it.
This whole mess taught me one thing: never trust outsiders with matters of the heart. I nearly destroyed my family through sheer weakness and stupidity. Now I’m praying Emily recovers, praying we get a second chance. And Sophie? She’s done meddling in our lives. Sometimes one mistake costs more than you can afford—but I hope there’s still time to set things right.
