**Trusting Husband and the Vial of Poison**
“Here we are, Mum,” Leo said, opening the car door for his mother.
Faye stepped out and lifted her gaze to the windows of her flat. She sighed.
“What is it, Mum? Feeling poorly again?”
“No, love.” She met her son’s eyes—genuine worry flickered in them. “I’ve lived my whole life in this flat. First with my parents, then with my husband. Brought you home from the hospital here—such a bonny baby you were.” She paused. “Remember when we bought those curtains after the renovation? And now…” Her eyes trailed back to the windows.
How many hours had she spent at the kitchen window, watching for her Nicholas? The moment she spotted him crossing the courtyard, she’d check if supper was still warm. Always left the gas on under the kettle—Nicholas liked his tea scalding hot, always with lump sugar. Sweets or flavoured tea? Never. A habit from his village roots.
“Come on, Mum,” Leo said gently, touching her arm. “Lily’s probably waiting.”
“Lily…” Faye exhaled the name. “She never once visited me. Was she waiting for me to die?”
“Enough of that, Mum,” Leo snapped.
They climbed to the second floor of the old townhouse. Leo unlocked the heavy door, its frame still marked where screws had once held his grandfather’s plaque: *”Professor Lionel Frederick Carter.”*
Her daughter-in-law peered from the bedroom, scoffed, and vanished.
“Go on in, Mum. I’ll make tea—with lemon, just how you like it,” Leo said.
Faye wandered into the small room that had once been Leo’s, and before that, her own. She sank onto the worn sofa, tilting her head back, eyes closed.
*What happens now?*
—
Faye married late. Her father, the professor, had seen her as his successor—expected her to carry on his research. Plenty of suitors came calling. “Don’t rush, love. It’s your father’s name they want, not you,” her mother had warned.
But at thirty, she fell for a clumsy young postgraduate. Her father adored him, predicted great things. Perhaps that’s why he consented. A year later, her parents retired to the countryside, leaving the flat to the newlyweds.
Life with Nicholas was good—only they couldn’t conceive. Faye had nearly given up when it happened. Their joy! But once Leo arrived, academia faded. Nicholas wanted her home, raising their son.
He worked tirelessly at the university, publishing papers, books. Enemies emerged. When Leo—named for his grandfather—was in secondary school, Nicholas died of a heart attack. The whispers destroyed him: *upstart, fraud, riding his father-in-law’s coattails.*
Faye was left alone with Leo. She never returned to teaching—what sort of scholar was she now? Sold her parents’ country house; the money lasted. Leo graduated, found work.
When he brought Lily home, Faye knew it was serious. No use dissuading him—he was besotted. But her mother’s instinct bristled. *Where’s she from? Who are her people?* Lily answered vaguely. Leo begged her to stop.
No relatives came to the wedding.
“She’s estranged from her mum and stepdad. Her real father’s ill,” Leo explained.
Faye relented. If Leo was happy, that was enough. She’d learn to love Lily.
She cooked for the household, but Lily wrinkled her nose. “Watching my figure,” she’d say, barely touching a thing.
“Who am I cooking for, then?” Faye huffed.
“Mum, leave her be. Let her eat what she wants,” Leo defended, though he often dined out.
Lily supposedly had a job—left mornings, returned by afternoon, laden with shopping bags, hair freshly styled.
Once, she and Leo talked for hours, sharing dreams. Now he stayed cloistered with Lily.
“Be grateful they’re not demanding you sell the flat,” a friend consoled.
Faye’s chest tightened. The high-ceilinged, wide-windowed flat—home to generations—meant everything. But what if Lily whispered in Leo’s ear, turned him against her?
Then came the news: Lily was expecting. Faye relaxed. A baby meant she’d be needed. No flat sale yet. She swapped rooms with the couple—space for the child.
But then Faye noticed something odd. She napped constantly, woke groggy, mind sluggish. Misplaced her address book for days, found it in plain sight. Glasses turned up in the fridge. *Did I put them there?*
Surrendering the main room, she’d surrendered authority too. She stayed sequestered, sleeping endlessly. The room was far; stumbling to the loo, her legs buckled, head spinning. *This isn’t me. I’m not old.*
Once, she woke to a silhouette by the bed—thought it was Nicholas. Lily’s laugh jolted her.
Leo came home to Lily’s theatrics: *She wets herself, mistakes me for your father!* Faye tried explaining, but her tongue felt thick. Leo called an ambulance.
Hospital tests showed nothing. By morning, she was lucid. A week later, discharged.
—
“Mum, tea,” Leo said.
She smiled weakly, drank. Soon, fog swallowed her again. *Exhaustion*, she thought, drifting off.
Woke at dusk. The flat silent. *Morning or evening?* Her head weighed a ton. Stomach burning. *Why am I sick again at home?*
She shuffled to the kitchen. No appetite. Had she eaten today? Forgotten? Warm milk, bread, salt—a childhood remedy. The fire in her gut eased.
Back to bed. By morning, Lily was steeping tea.
“No work today?” Faye asked.
“Doctor’s appointment,” Lily said, pouring. Rising, her robe gaped—a rounded belly.
“Five months?” Faye choked.
Lily stiffened. Faye coughed violently, collapsing into sleep till evening.
Leo wasn’t home. “Working late,” Lily said.
The landline rang—a rarity. Faye answered. Leo had been in an accident.
Lily clutched her belly, collapsed. Faye hesitated—who to help? Stayed with her, took a taxi to the hospital next morning.
Leo was conscious but paralyzed. Doctors baffled.
Lily fled the ward. Faye followed.
“*You* should’ve—” Lily spat, eyes blazing, then ran.
Faye stayed by Leo’s side, eating at the hospital. Oddly, her mind cleared. No dizziness, no fog.
Lily visited once. Spoke to doctors, left.
Days later, they discharged Leo—no physical damage. “Psychological,” the doctor said. “Time will heal.”
At home, the wardrobes gaped empty. Only a strange, lumpy pillow on the bed.
Lily was gone. *No use for a cripple*, Faye thought. How to tell Leo?
The doctor called it a mercy: “New shock may undo the old.”
“You’re being discharged, love,” Faye said next day.
“And then what? A wheelchair?”
“You’re fine. It’s in your head. You’ll walk.”
“Lily—does she know?”
“She left.”
Leo raged. Faye waited, then spoke.
“I saw her with a vial—hid it when I walked in. Claimed it was headache drops. *Drops during pregnancy?* I’ve felt better since I stopped eating at home. Maybe—maybe she was poisoning us.”
“*Lily?* She’d never—”
“Think, Leo. That ‘pillow’ she left? Her ‘pregnancy.’ She wanted you to find it, stop looking. I think she meant for me to wander into traffic. You—drugged, crashing your car…”
Leo paled. “I had tea before the accident…”
“Too late for blood tests now. When the doctor said you wouldn’t walk, she bolted. No use for a cripple. The flat, Leo—that’s what she wanted.”
He refused the police.
At home, he was sullen, snapping at Faye. She didn’t take it to heart—anger at his helplessness.
She arranged physio. A nurse, Verity, visited. Leo brightened. Within months, he walked unaided.
He spoke openly again, shared plans. Filed for divorce—Lily never showed.
He and Verity wed a year later.
At the shopping centre, Verity—six months along—waited in the car. Faye felt eyes on her.
Lily stood across the lot. Smirked, nodded, then vanished.
Leo called out. Faye scanned the carpark. Gone.
*Let her stay gone.* But how many trusting men would fall for that smile?
