almost desperate intensity. A few weeks later, I poured out the drink again—this time down the sink.
The following morning, Victor stared at me for a long moment.
“Did you drink all of it last night?”
“Yes.”
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“Don’t lie to me.”
His voice was low but threatening.
“Have you been watching me?” I asked.
He came closer, gripped my shoulders, and said:
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“If you have ever loved me, never do that again.”
I froze. For the first time, he had admitted that he knew.
From that day on, I began thinking about leaving him. But every time I considered telling Emily, Victor’s usual gentle and
caring behavior made me doubt myself. Perhaps I was overreacting. Maybe he had a drinking problem and simply wanted
me to share it with him.
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During the winter of our thirty-fifth year together, Victor suffered a heart attack.
