I watched Lucien watch his own mother, on video, deliberately poison the woman he loved, morning after morning.
He made a sound I had never heard a grown man make, and he folded down onto a kitchen chair with his head in his hands.
“This can’t be happening,” he said into his palms.
“My mother could never — she couldn’t do something like this.
She couldn’t.”
“I believed that too,” I said.