On the evening of our wedding anniversary, we gathered around the dinner table, laughter softening the edges of time. My husband lifted his glass in a quiet toast, his smile almost reverent. I mirrored the gesture—but as the rim neared my lips, I caught a flicker of movement. He’d slipped something into my drink.
My skin prickled. Instinct surged. Without drawing attention, I swapped my glass with his sister’s.
Ten minutes. A clink of glasses. A chorus of “cheers.” Then, the collapse.
Gasps pierced the room. Chairs scraped back. His sister crumpled, unconscious.