On our anniversary, I saw my husband spike my drink. I swapped glasses with his sister, who collapsed soon after. His shock seemed fake; I suspected he targeted me. Hospital tests confirmed poisoning. His trembling hands when I mentioned the swap spurred me to collect evidence—receipts, logs, messages. I handed it to the police, who arrested him for attempted murder during a toast.
Two months later, peace returned—until he requested a meeting from detention. He claimed the poison was for his sister, who was blackmailing him. Doubtful, I checked her tablet, finding recordings, talks with “M.O.,” and a chilling note: “We’ll have to set up an accident if she doesn’t go on her own.” The betrayal wasn’t just his—his sister was involved in a plot against me. The truth was darker, and the threat lingered.