Every Evening, My Husband Tipped Two Drops From a Small Dark Glass Bottle Into My Tea
He had never put a lock on his briefcase in all the months we had lived in this house.
“Is that a digital lock?” I asked, pointing at the blinking light.
“Company policy changed this morning,” Daniel said, shifting the heavy bag to his left hand.
“We’re handling sensitive commercial land records now.”
“What kind of land records?” I asked.
“Just routine corporate leases,” he said, stepping past me toward the kitchen door.
“Nothing for you to worry your head about.”
He set the briefcase down on the granite counter and immediately pulled a brass tin from the pantry shelf.
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