At 64, I married a 31-year-old man. Six months later, I discovered that every night I secretly added something to my drink and insisted that I take it to the last drop. One night, I refused to drink it and took a sample to a lab. When the doctor saw the results, he paled, immediately closed the door and asked me, “MA’am, DO YOUR HUSBAND KNOW THAT YOU ARE HERE?” …

“So my husband is poisoning me?”

“I can’t make that conclusion. But until we understand what’s happening, don’t drink any more of it.”

I returned home terrified.

And that evening, I witnessed something even more frightening.

The door to Daniel’s office was slightly open.

I heard his voice from inside.

“I can’t wait any longer. Tomorrow, we have to put an end to this.”

He paused, then continued.

“She doesn’t know anything. And I want it to stay that way until the very last moment.”

I froze.

That night, Daniel once again brought me my drink.

“Drink it, sweetheart.”

“I don’t want to.”

His expression became serious.

“Margaret, please. Tonight is especially important.”

“Why?”

He didn’t answer.

For the first time, I saw something in his eyes that genuinely frightened me.

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