Every Evening, My Husband Tipped Two Drops From a Small Dark Glass Bottle Into My Tea
I popped the plastic lid open with my thumb, watching the back of Daniel’s beige cashmere sweater.
While he reached for the milk pitcher, I tipped my ceramic mug sideways over my lap.
Warm liquid poured into the plastic cylinder, filling it three-quarters full.
A few warm drops splashed my knuckles, but I didn’t move.
I pressed the blue lid back onto the container until I felt the double ridge click into place.
I slid the plastic vial deep into my sweater pocket just as Daniel turned around holding his espresso cup.
“Drink it while it’s hot, Margaret,” he said, pushing my mug two inches closer.
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