It all started with a phone call I never imagined receiving. On the other side of the line, the doctor’s voice sounded cautious, almost as if he were measuring every word before letting it out.
“Mrs. Carter, first of all I want to ask you something. Do you take any sleep medications?
“No,” I replied without hesitating kara.
There was prolonged silence. The doctor then took a deep breath and explained that in the sample he had taken to the laboratory they had detected a sedative. It could not specify how long it had been exposed, but the concentration was sufficient to cause intense drowsiness and significantly reduce the responsiveness.
The memories that started to have another meaning
I squeezed the phone hard. Suddenly, the last six years of my life began to rearrange in my head. The mornings I woke up dizzy. The nights I couldn’t remember how I got to bed. Ethan’s words the next day, always the same, always with that tender smile:
You slept like a baby.
I had attributed everything to age. At almost 60 years old, it seemed natural to me to feel more tired, slower, more fragile. I never suspected there was another explanation.
The doctor recommended me to stop consuming anything prepared by that person and talk to the authorities and my lawyer as soon as possible. I hung up the phone and stayed almost half an hour inside the car, still. I didn’t cry. Not yet.
