Chapter 1 - The Hospital Corridor
The linoleum floor of St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital screamed beneath the harsh, buzzing fluorescent lights as I sprinted down the hallway. My seventy-year-old knees throbbed with every step, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the roaring terror tearing through my chest.
*Poisoned.*
The word echoed in my mind like a gunshot. Sophie and Ben. My sweet, bright-eyed grandchildren—seven and nine years old—were lying in a hospital room because of a sapphire-blue velvet box I had handed over with a smiling face.
When I burst through the double doors of the emergency pediatric wing, I found Emily sitting on a plastic waiting room chair, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking violently. Beside her stood Nathan, staring blankly at the wall, his face the color of wet cement.
"Emily!" I cried out, rushing toward them. "Oh, God, Emily! How are they? What did the doctors say?"
Emily snapped her head up. Her eyes, usually framed with careful composure, were bloodshot, swollen, and burning with a terrifying, unfathomable hatred. She didn't cry. She didn't flinch. She stood up, her hand drawing back, and struck me across the face with a crack that echoed off the white tile walls.
My head snapped to the side. A sharp, burning sting bloomed across my cheek.
"You did this," Emily whispered, her voice trembling with a lethal, suppressed fury. "You selfish, narcissistic monster. You couldn't even let him give you a single gift without interfering, so you gave them to my babies!"
"Emily, stop!" Nathan yelled, finally moving. He stepped between us, though he couldn't bring himself to look me in the eye. His hands were shaking so badly he shoved them deep into his jacket pockets.
"Stop?" Emily shrieked, tears finally spilling over her lashes as she pointed a shaking finger at my chest. "Your mother just poisoned our children, Nathan! Are you going to defend her now like you always do? The doctors said it was heavy-grade industrial rat poison mixed into high-fat dark chocolate ganache! It was calculated! It was lethal!"
My breath hitched. The room seemed to tilt sideways.
*Rat poison.*
I looked at Nathan. The morning sunlight from the birthday memory suddenly felt like a distant, freezing illusion. I remembered his voice on the phone—the sheer panic, the sudden, jagged breathing, the terror when he asked if I had eaten them myself.
He hadn't sent those chocolates to celebrate my birthday.
May you like
He had sent them to kill me. And because I had passed them down to his children out of a grandmother's habit of sharing, he had nearly murdered his own flesh and blood.
---
