Then, one night in late May, I woke up at two in the morning.
The bed was empty beside me. The sheets were cool, so he’d been up a while.
I heard his voice. Low and quiet. He was standing by the bedroom window with his back to me, his phone pressed to his ear. The moonlight off the lake made him look like a cutout.
I lay perfectly still. I kept my breathing slow and even, the way I used to pretend to sleep when my mother checked on me.
“Yes,” he whispered. “I’m still following the instructions. Every night.”
There was a pause. I could hear a tiny buzz of a voice on the other end. A man, I thought. But I couldn’t be sure.
“No. Same dose. Exactly what you said.”
Another pause.
“But she’s starting to ask questions.”
My heart started pounding so hard I was sure he’d hear it.
“I don’t know,” he said. “She saw the bottle. I told her it was flavoring.”
Pause.
“I know. I know that.”
Then he dropped his voice even lower. I almost missed it.
“We’re running out of time. If this keeps going, we could lose her.”
Lose her.
Lose me.
I lay there with my eyes closed and my hands clenched under the pillow while my husband of eight months talked about losing me like I was a package that might not arrive.
He hung up. He stood at the window for a long time. Then he came back to bed. He slid in carefully so he wouldn’t wake me. He put his hand on my shoulder.
I didn’t move.
I didn’t sleep again that night. I lay in the dark and listened to him breathe and asked myself the same two questions over and over until the sun came up over the lake.
Who was he talking to?
And what were they trying to do to me?
Specialty: Legal & Financial Drama
Michael Carter covers stories where money, power, and personal history collide. His writing often explores courtroom battles, business conflicts, and the subtle strategies people use when pushed into a corner. He focuses on grounded, realistic storytelling with attention to detail and believable motivations.