The strangest part was that Victor never offered it to anyone else. Whenever we had guests, he kept the bottle locked away.
He waited until everyone had left, locked the front door, and only then brought out the glasses.
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Once, when our daughter Emily was sixteen, she entered the kitchen and reached for the bottle.
“Can I smell it?” she asked.
Victor almost snatched it out of her hand.
“Never touch this again.”
Emily stepped back, frightened. I had never heard him speak to our daughter that way.
That was the first night I wondered whether the bottle contained something other than ordinary alcohol.
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The years passed, but the ritual never changed.
Once a month, Victor received a small package in the mail. He immediately carried it to the basement and returned with a
full, unlabeled bottle. Whenever I asked who had sent the package, he said it came from an old friend. But when I suggested
