Every Evening, My Husband Tipped Two Drops From a Small Dark Glass Bottle Into My Tea

“Do not stay up past midnight,” I said.

“I promise,” he said, leaning down to press his lips against my cheek.

“Sleep well, Margaret.”

He closed the bedroom door softly behind him, leaving me alone in the quiet room with the stack of folded linens.

I sat on the edge of the mattress for a long time, watching the autumn wind push the bare oak branches against the windowpane.

My purse sat on the nightstand beside the lamp, the plastic sample container sealed safely inside its double layer of freezer bags.