Margaret’s tone sharpened with certainty. “Small doses. Just enough to weaken his heart over time. He’s already dizzy, nauseous, confused. Everyone will think it’s natural.”
She paused, then said a word that made my blood ice.
“Digoxin.”
My doctor replied, pleased. “They won’t trace it.”
Margaret sounded almost affectionate. “Darling, you’re a genius.”
I stumbled backward from the door like I’d been shoved.
My vision blurred. My wife of thirty-five years was planning my death with my physician, and they were discussing it like a vacation itinerary.
I fumbled for my phone, hands shaking.
Marcus answered immediately. “Tell me you’re not inside the room.”
“I’m outside,” I whispered. “I heard them. She’s going to kill me. They said digoxin.”
“Get away from that door,” Marcus snapped. “Now. Go to the lobby. Stay visible. Don’t do anything heroic.”
I forced my legs to move.
By the time I reached the lobby, my body felt like it belonged to someone else. I sat heavily in a chair near the front desk, pretending to scroll my phone, pretending my life wasn’t cracking open.
Marcus arrived twenty minutes later—short, stocky, gray-haired, eyes sharp as broken glass. He sat beside me like we were old friends and spoke low.
“I already called police,” he said. “But we need something airtight. Your word helps. A recording helps more.”
I stared at him. “You can record them?”
Marcus’s mouth twitched. “I’ve got ways. And I’ve got Detective Sarah Morrison on this. She’s good.”
Detectives arrived—plain clothes, calm faces, listening to my story without the skepticism I feared. They didn’t laugh. They didn’t dismiss Sophie. They asked specifics, wrote notes, looked at the photo of Margaret and Prescott like it confirmed something they’d already suspected.
Detective Morrison looked at me. “We can arrest on what we have,” she said. “But if we catch her administering the drug, it’s airtight.”
My skin crawled. “You want me to go home.”
“We want you to act normal,” she said gently. “Take whatever pills she gives you. Don’t swallow. We’ll have cameras. You’ll have a panic button. We’ll be watching.”
The thought of lying beside Margaret in our bed made bile rise in my throat.
Then I saw Sophie’s face in my mind—brave, terrified, honest—and I realized courage isn’t the absence of fear. It’s doing the right thing while fear screams.
“I’ll do it,” I said.