But behind those bottles, there was another one—unlabeled, no packaging, not even a production date.
Inside that bottle were the pills William had been giving me every day.
I snapped a photo of it and slipped one pill into a sealed bag.
Back in the bedroom, a small drop of liquid William had failed to wipe clean still stained the desk.
Beside his computer stood Sophia’s photo.
William and I were both twenty-five, while Sophia was a few years older. In a few months, she’d turn thirty.
I loved William deeply.
Even though I knew Sophia held a special place in his heart, they had never been together despite knowing each other for so many years.
When William and I first met, he pursued me passionately.
We had been married for three years now and were preparing for a child.
I believed William truly loved me.
With that thought, I quietly wiped the desk with a tissue.
As I tossed the tissue into the trash, I noticed a sheet of paper on the floor—covered in Spanish writing.
William and Sophia had once studied abroad in Spain.
Lately, handwritten Spanish notes kept appearing around the house.
When I asked about them, he simply said they were part of his studio’s research project.