Every evening at nine, he called me.
“Did you drink your glass?”
“Yes.”
I was lying.
In truth, I hadn’t swallowed a single drop since he was admitted. A few hours before his death, he motioned for me to come
closer.
“Promise me you’ll continue.”
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“First tell me what’s inside that bottle.”
Victor’s eyes filled with tears.
“It contains everything I could never bring myself to tell you.”
“Have you been harming me?”
He tried to answer, but he no longer had the strength. He only shook his head and squeezed my hand. Victor died that night.
After the funeral, I returned home and sat alone at our kitchen table for the first time. It was nine o’clock. The bottle was still
in the cabinet. I placed it in my bag and took it to a private laboratory the next morning.
Three days later, they called.
“Mrs. Carter, you need to come in person. We recommend that you bring a family member with you.”
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Emily accompanied me. The doctor invited us inside, closed the door, and placed the test results on his desk.
“How long have you been taking this?” he asked.
“Thirty-five years. My husband forced me to drink it. Is it poison?”
The doctor stared at me in surprise and said… The continuation read in the comments ‼️👇‼️👇
“No. And there is no alcohol in it at all. This is a specially prepared medication used to control an extremely rare hereditary
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disease.”
I laughed, assuming there had been a mistake.
Then the doctor showed me several old medical documents.
They bore my maiden name.
During the first year of our marriage, I had fainted and undergone a series of tests. The doctors had discovered the same illness that had killed my mother when she was still young.
After hearing the diagnosis, I had suffered a severe emotional breakdown. I refused treatment and even burned the medical report.
Over the years, my memories of that period had faded.
But Victor had never forgotten.
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He found a specialist and secretly ordered my medication for decades. He poured it into an ordinary bottle so I wouldn’t refuse to take it.
The doctor handed me a letter Victor had left behind.
“My darling, you told me you didn’t want to feel like a sick woman every day. So I turned your treatment into our little family tradition. My glass contained only bitter fruit juice. I drank beside you so you would never feel alone. Forgive me for forcing you. I was willing to let you hate me someday, as long as you were still alive when that day came.”
