Chapter 1
At eight months pregnant, I woke up on my kitchen floor clutching my stomach while my mother-in-law stood over me, completely calm. Then my husband walked in and saw the glass beside her.
That afternoon, I was alone at our house in Nashville with my mother-in-law, Diane.
My husband, Ethan, had been at work since early morning.
Diane had never hidden how she felt about my pregnancy.
“You two weren’t ready for this,” she had said the day we announced it.
But lately, she had become strangely nice.
She offered to cook.
She folded the baby clothes.
She even smiled when she asked if I wanted some orange juice.
I should have known something was wrong.
“Sit down, Emily,” she told me. “You’re eight months pregnant. Let me take care of you.”
I went to the bathroom while she poured the juice.
When I came back, the glass was already waiting on the kitchen table.
There was a thin white residue around the rim.
“What’s that?” I asked.
Diane wiped it quickly with her thumb.
“Probably sugar.”
I took two small sips.
Less than ten minutes later, my stomach tightened so hard I dropped the glass.
“Diane…”
She didn’t move.
I grabbed the counter as another wave of pain hit me.
“Something’s wrong. Call Ethan.”
She stared at me with an expression I had never seen before.
Cold.
Almost relieved.
“Please,” I cried. “Call 911.”
Instead, she picked up her purse.
“You always were dramatic.”
My knees gave out.
I fell onto the kitchen floor and wrapped both arms around my belly.
The baby suddenly wasn’t moving the way he had been all morning.
“Please help me!”
Diane walked closer and looked down at me.
Then she whispered, “This family was fine before you brought that child into it.”
The front door opened.
“Emily?”
Ethan’s voice came from the hallway.
He ran into the kitchen and froze when he saw me on the floor.
“What happened?!”
He dropped beside me while Diane calmly said, “She probably fainted.”
I grabbed his shirt.
“The juice.”
Ethan looked at the broken glass.
Then he noticed the small white powder scattered beneath Diane’s chair.
His face went pale.
“Mom… what is that?”
Diane said nothing.
Ethan reached for his phone, but then stopped.
He was staring at the security camera above our kitchen doorway.
“I installed that yesterday,” he whispered.
For the first time, Diane looked afraid.
Ethan opened the camera app, rewound the footage, and watched his mother take a small container from her purse and pour white powder into my drink.
His hands started shaking.
“Mom… what did you put in my wife’s glass?”
May you like
Diane slowly looked at me, then at my stomach.
And with no emotion at all, she said, “The same thing I gave your first wife.”
