I put the book down in slow motion and stood up. My hands were steady now—oddly calm. I didn’t look at Elise. I looked straight at Luca.
— Before I sign anything, I want one thing. Tea.
Elise blinked. — What?
— Tea, darling. I always sign important documents with a cup of tea. It calms my nerves.
— I’ll get it for you, — she said quickly, already moving toward the kitchen.
— No, Elise. I want to make it myself.
For a moment, no one moved. The silence cracked like thin glass.
She laughed, light and musical. — Of course, Mom.
But I saw it—the flicker of unease in her eyes.
I walked slowly to the kitchen, feeling their eyes on me. The wildflower bowl was there, waiting like a snake coiled on the counter. But it wasn’t alone. The bag I had hidden the powder in sat in my apron pocket. And in the drawer, a pair of plastic gloves I’d tucked away weeks ago.
I made two cups of tea. One for myself. One for Elise.
As I returned, I handed her the cup with a soft smile.
— It’s my way of saying thank you, dear. For all you’ve done. Please, drink it with me.
She looked at the cup, and then at me. Her perfect nails hesitated on the porcelain.
— That’s sweet of you, — she said. — But I don’t drink tea. Remember?
— Oh? That’s strange. I could have sworn I saw you sipping from that mug last Thursday. The blue one with the chipped handle. The one that matches mine.
Her hand trembled just slightly.
— Come on, Elise, — I added sweetly. — For Luca’s sake. You said that matters most, didn’t you?
Luca looked between us, confused, suddenly alert.
Elise stared at the tea. Then at me.
— What is this? — she hissed under her breath.
— A test, — I whispered back. — You failed.
I turned to the notary.
— Mr. Laurent, I believe this meeting is over.
— Mom, what’s happening? — Luca asked, stepping forward, panic rising in his voice.
I held up the small bottle—the one with the remnants of her “sweetener.”
— This, Luca, is why I’ve been sick for a year. This… is what your wife has been feeding me.
Elise lunged at me, but I was ready. The cup shattered on the floor between us.
Mr. Laurent, stunned, stood frozen. But Luca—
Luca grabbed Elise’s arm.
— Tell me she’s lying, Elise. Tell me now.
Elise didn’t speak.
Instead, she pulled her arm free and ran.
The door slammed.
Three hours later, she was in police custody.
The powder? Thallium. Odorless. Tasteless. Perfect for a slow death.
I never did finish that porridge.
But I served something else instead: the truth.
And Luca? He moved out the next day.
He visits every Sunday now. Always with tea.
From a new sugar bowl.
One with no wildflowers.