When he saw me swallow, Daniel’s joy was visible.
“Honey, I knew you still loved my cooking. I made all your favorites today. Tomorrow we’ll eat out—go wash up now, dinner’s ready.”
Watching him bustle around, I no longer felt the happiness I once did—only an icy chill.
Dish after dish came to the table, and I realized it wasn’t just the chicken soup—nearly every plate was laced with the medicine.
Finally, Daniel set down a single set of utensils in front of me and sat across the table, watching me eat.
“Why only one set? Aren’t you eating? And where’s Ethan? Why didn’t you call him for dinner?”
Daniel adjusted his glasses.
“Before you got back, Ethan insisted on fried chicken, so I ordered him some. He couldn’t finish it, so I helped. Now neither of us is hungry. I sent him to his room to do homework.”
“Oh.”
Since there was no avoiding this feast, I went ahead and ate.
After all, I knew exactly what I had mixed. At worst, I’d feel unwell for a few days and could counter it with other medicine.
But I still couldn’t understand why my loving husband would want me to become someone else.
Before I had time to figure it out, another shock arrived.
The next day, I got a call from my son’s teacher.
“Are you Ethan Moore’s mom? I’m Ms. Johnson, his homeroom teacher. Do you have time to come to school?”
It was the first time Ethan’s teacher had contacted me. Normally, everything about Ethan—especially schoolwork—was handled by Daniel.
My first thought was that Ethan had caused trouble.
“Ms. Johnson, did Ethan misbehave in school?”
“No, nothing like that. There’s just something I need to ask you about.”
Puzzled, I went anyway. Compared to me, the workaholic mother, she usually spoke with Daniel.
“Usually my husband takes care of Ethan’s matters,” I explained.
“I know, but I still think I should talk to you in person.”
“All right.”
I tidied up and drove to the school.
In the office, Ms. Johnson pulled out a notebook.
“Mrs. Parker, please take a look—this was an assignment from this week.”
A little embarrassed, I said,
“Did he skip the homework? Usually it’s his dad who watches over him. I haven’t been as involved.”
“Please, just read it.”
I opened the notebook.
In childish handwriting, it read:
“My mom is not my mom. Dad says soon I’ll get to see my real mom.”
My blood ran cold.
Ms. Johnson said gently,
“I don’t know if you and Ethan’s father are having problems, but please try not to let adult matters affect the child.”
My mind went blank, flashing back to Daniel’s strange behavior lately.
I didn’t think this was just a child’s imagination.
“Thank you for noticing in time. I’ll talk to Ethan when we get home. Sorry for troubling you.”
Back home, I said nothing.
I went to Ethan’s room—a place I rarely entered.
And there, I found something shocking.
