Rain lashed against the windows, punctuated by occasional flashes of lightning. Elise sat in Dr. Bennett's office, watching raindrops race down the glass. The counselor's voice seemed to come from far away, though he sat just across from her.

  "Mrs. Carter? Are you with us?"

  Elise blinked, forcing herself to focus. "I'm sorry. What were you saying?"

  Dr. Bennett was a slight man with thinning hair and wire-rimmed glasses that magnified his pale eyes. He smiled with practiced patience. "I asked how the medication has been working."

  "Fine, I guess." Elise shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "I'm sleeping better."

  That much was true. The pills Aaron gave her each night pulled her into a heavy, dreamless sleep. No more nightmares about Lena, no more shadowy figures in the hallway. Just darkness, then morning.

  "And the hallucinations? Any more episodes?"

  Elise glanced at Aaron, who sat beside her, his posture attentive, concerned. He'd insisted on attending all her sessions, claiming Dr. Bennett had recommended it.

  "No," she said quietly. "Nothing like that."

  Aaron reached over to squeeze her hand. "She's been much more stable this week. Following routines, eating regularly."

  Dr. Bennett nodded approvingly, making a note in his leather-bound notebook. "Excellent. Structure is vital in these early stages of grief."

  There was something about the way the two men discussed her—like she was a project they were managing rather than a person in the room—that made Elise's skin crawl. But every time this feeling arose, she pushed it down. Aaron and Dr. Bennett were trying to help her. Her suspicions were just paranoia, another symptom of her grief-addled mind.

  "I'd like to discuss the incident with the package," Dr. Bennett continued. "The one you believed was from your sister."

  "I didn't 'believe' it was from her," Elise corrected, an edge creeping into her voice. "It was from her. I held it in my hands."

  Aaron and Dr. Bennett exchanged a look that made her jaw clench.

  "Elise," Aaron said gently, "we've been over this. The security cameras showed no courier that morning. No one came to the house while I was gone."

  "You checked the cameras?" This was news to Elise.

  "Of course. After what happened, I wanted to make sure." Aaron's expression was all concern. "I showed Dr. Bennett the footage. There was nothing."

  Elise felt as if the floor was tilting beneath her. She remembered the package so clearly—the weight of it in her hands, Lena's distinctive handwriting, the sapphire earrings nestled in velvet.

  "I don't understand," she whispered. "It felt so real."

  "The mind is powerful," Dr. Bennett explained. "Especially when processing trauma. It can construct elaborate scenarios, particularly involving the deceased. It's a way of maintaining connection, of denying the finality of death."

  "But why would I imagine earrings? And a note about our anniversary?"

  "The anniversary of what?" Dr. Bennett asked, glancing at his notes.

  "Our wedding," Aaron supplied when Elise hesitated. "Seven years next week."

  Dr. Bennett nodded. "There you have it. Your mind linked your sister's death with an upcoming significant event. It's not uncommon."

  But it didn't feel like her mind playing tricks. It felt like something—or someone—was deliberately confusing her, making her doubt herself.

  The rest of the session passed in a blur. Dr. Bennett increased her medication slightly, suggested Aaron monitor her more closely, and recommended against her returning to work anytime soon. Aaron nodded along to everything, the model of a supportive husband.

  As they left the office, the rain had subsided to a gentle drizzle. Aaron held an umbrella over them both as they walked to the car.

  "You're quiet," he observed, opening the passenger door for her.

  "Just tired." It was easier than explaining the tangle of doubts in her mind.

  Aaron drove them home through streets slick with rain, the autumn trees fiery against the gray sky. Elise leaned her head against the window, watching the world slide by. She'd always loved fall in New England—the colors, the crisp air, the sense of transformation. Now it just felt like everything was dying.

  "I've been thinking," Aaron said as they turned onto their street. "Maybe we should get away for our anniversary. A change of scenery might do you good."

  "Get away where?"

  "The lake house. Just for the weekend. Fresh air, quiet. No distractions."

  Their lake house was actually Aaron's—a small cabin he'd inherited from his grandfather, tucked away on the shores of Lake Champlain. Elise had always found it peaceful there, though somewhat isolated.

  "I don't know," she said hesitantly. "I'm not sure I'm up for it."

  Aaron reached across to squeeze her knee. "Think about it. You don't have to decide now."

  As they pulled into the driveway, Elise noticed a familiar car parked along the curb—her mother's aging Volvo.

  "Why is my mother here?" she asked, tension immediately flooding her body.

  Aaron's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "I have no idea. She doesn't usually call ahead, does she?"

  There was an edge to his voice that Elise chose to ignore. Her relationship with Carla had been strained for years, but since Lena's death, something had shifted. Her mother seemed determined to reconnect, despite Aaron's barely concealed disapproval.

  Carla was sitting on the front porch steps, a canvas tote bag beside her. She stood as they approached, her face lighting up at the sight of Elise.

  "There you are," she said, moving forward to embrace her daughter. "I was beginning to worry."

  Elise returned the hug stiffly. Physical affection had never been Carla's strong suit; these new embraces felt foreign, almost desperate.

  "We had a doctor's appointment," Aaron explained, his tone polite but cool. "If we'd known you were coming..."

  "It was a spur-of-the-moment decision," Carla said, stepping back to study Elise's face. "You look tired, sweetheart."

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  "I'm fine," Elise replied automatically.

  "Why don't we go inside?" Aaron suggested, already unlocking the front door. "It's getting chilly out here."

  In the kitchen, Aaron busied himself making tea while Elise and Carla sat at the island. There was an awkward silence, heavy with unspoken words.

  "I brought something for you," Carla finally said, reaching into her tote bag. "I found it when I was going through some old boxes."

  She handed Elise a worn leather photo album. Opening it, Elise found pictures of herself and Lena as children—building sandcastles at the beach, dressed up for Halloween, blowing out birthday candles.

  "I thought you might like to have it," Carla explained, her voice soft. "To remember the good times."

  Elise traced a finger over a photo of Lena at about seven years old, missing her front teeth, grinning wildly at the camera. "Thank you," she whispered, emotion closing her throat.

  "Lena was a beautiful soul, wasn't she?" Carla continued. "So full of life."

  Aaron set mugs of tea in front of them with perhaps more force than necessary. "Yes, she was. It's such a tragedy what happened."

  "Is it?" Carla asked, her eyes fixed on Aaron's face.

  An uncomfortable silence fell. Elise looked between them, sensing the undercurrents of hostility.

  "Mom," she began cautiously, "what do you mean by that?"

  Carla tore her gaze from Aaron. "Just that it seems... out of character. For Lena to take her own life."

  "The police investigation was thorough," Aaron said firmly. "The evidence was conclusive."

  "Yes, the note." Carla nodded, a strange expression on her face. "Did you know Lena was left-handed, Aaron?"

  "Of course I knew that," he replied, an edge to his voice. "What's your point?"

  "Just that left-handed people often have distinctive handwriting. Slants in the opposite direction and such." Carla sipped her tea calmly. "I always thought Lena's handwriting was as unique as she was."

  Elise frowned, not following the conversation. What did Lena's handwriting have to do with anything?

  Aaron's phone chimed with a text message. He checked it quickly, then stood. "I need to make a work call. Will you excuse me for a few minutes?"

  As soon as he left the room, Carla leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Elise, I need you to listen to me very carefully. Have you been experiencing memory lapses? Confusion? Maybe seeing or hearing things that others say aren't there?"

  Elise stiffened. "How did you know that?"

  "Because the same thing happened to your aunt Margaret before she died."

  "Aunt Margaret? She died of cancer when I was a teenager."

  Carla shook her head. "That's what we told you girls. The truth is more complicated." She glanced toward the doorway, clearly checking for Aaron's return. "Margaret was married to a man named Richard. Charming, handsome, seemingly devoted. But he was systematically poisoning her—small doses over time, making her seem crazy, convincing everyone she was losing her mind."

  "Mom, that's—"

  "Listen to me," Carla hissed, gripping Elise's wrist. "I recognized the signs too late with Margaret. I will not make the same mistake with you."

  "What are you saying?" Elise asked, though a cold dread was already forming in her stomach.

  "I'm saying be careful what you eat and drink in this house. I'm saying your husband may not be who you think he is."

  "That's absurd," Elise said, pulling her hand away. "Aaron has been nothing but supportive. He's the only thing keeping me together right now."

  "Is he? Or is he creating the very problems he's supposedly helping you solve?" Carla reached into her bag again, withdrawing a small business card. "This is the number of a private toxicologist. Call him. Get your blood tested, but don't tell Aaron."

  Elise stared at the card, feeling sick. "You think Aaron is poisoning me?"

  "I think something very wrong is happening in this house. And I think Lena suspected it too."

  The sound of footsteps approaching made Carla sit back quickly. Elise slipped the card into her pocket just as Aaron reappeared.

  "Sorry about that," he said, smiling easily. "Work crisis averted. What did I miss?"

  "Just looking at old photos," Carla replied, her demeanor completely changed—casual, almost lighthearted. "Reminiscing about when the girls were little."

  Aaron nodded, moving to stand behind Elise, his hands resting on her shoulders in a gesture that once felt protective but now made her skin prickle uncomfortably.

  "Carla, would you like to stay for dinner?" he asked, his tone perfectly cordial. "I was thinking of making that pasta Elise loves."

  "Thank you, but I should get going." Carla stood, gathering her bag. "Long drive home, and my night vision isn't what it used to be."

  She hugged Elise again, longer this time. "Call me anytime," she whispered. "Day or night."

  As Aaron walked Carla to the door, Elise remained at the island, staring at the photographs of her childhood. Could her mother be right? The idea seemed preposterous. Aaron, her husband of almost seven years, poison her? Make her think she was going crazy?

  Yet even as she dismissed the thought, pieces began to arrange themselves in her mind—the missing package, the lapses in memory, the constant subtle reinforcement that she couldn't trust her own perceptions. The new medication that left her groggy and compliant.

  "Your mother means well," Aaron said as he returned to the kitchen, "but I worry she's projecting her own grief onto conspiracy theories."

  Elise looked up at him, really looked, trying to see past the familiar features to whatever might lie beneath. "What did she mean about Lena being left-handed?"

  A flicker of something—annoyance? concern?—crossed Aaron's face before it smoothed into gentle exasperation. "I have no idea. She wasn't making much sense." He moved behind her, massaging her shoulders. "You're so tense. Let me run you a bath before dinner."

  His hands felt different to her now—heavier, more controlling than comforting. But she nodded, closing the photo album.

  "That sounds nice."

  ---

  The bath was perfect—hot, fragrant with lavender bath salts, lit by candles Aaron had arranged around the large claw-foot tub. He'd even poured her a glass of wine, setting it within easy reach on a small table.

  "Take your time," he'd said, kissing her forehead. "I'll have dinner ready when you come down."

  Alone in the bathroom, Elise sank into the water, letting its heat soothe her tense muscles. Through the partially open window, she could hear the wind rustling the trees, the distant cry of a night bird.

  She reached for the wine, lifting it to her lips, then paused. Carla's warning echoed in her mind.

  *Be careful what you eat and drink in this house.*

  Could it really be possible? Could Aaron be slipping something into her food, her drinks? The very thought made her stomach churn. It was insane, paranoid.

  And yet...

  She glanced at the drain, at the steaming bathwater surrounding her. Then, with a quick movement that surprised even herself, she poured the wine down the drain.

  As the red liquid disappeared, Elise felt a curious blend of guilt and fear. What if her mother was right? What if Aaron was slowly poisoning her, making her believe she was losing her mind?

  And a more terrifying thought: what if he had done the same to Lena?

  The water began to cool, but Elise remained in the tub, trying to make sense of her conflicting thoughts. Part of her wanted to trust Aaron completely—to believe he was exactly what he'd always seemed, a loving, supportive husband devoted to her wellbeing. That was the safer choice, the easier path.

  But another part—the part that had always connected deeply with Lena, the part that still believed her sister would never have taken her own life—whispered warnings she couldn't ignore.

  When she finally emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in her robe, the smell of garlic and herbs wafted up from the kitchen. Aaron was cooking her favorite pasta, just as he'd promised. Taking care of her, as always.

  "Feel better?" he called up as she appeared at the top of the stairs.

  "Much," she lied, forcing a smile.

  "Dinner's almost ready. Would you like more wine? You didn't touch your glass."

  Elise froze momentarily. How did he know she hadn't drunk the wine? Had he been checking on her?

  "I spilled it," she improvised quickly. "Clumsy of me. But no, I think I'll stick with water tonight. The medication, you know."

  Aaron's smile didn't waver. "Of course. Always thinking ahead, aren't you?"

  Something in his tone made her palms sweat. She descended the stairs carefully, feeling as though she was walking a tightrope.

  In the kitchen, Aaron had set the table beautifully—their wedding china, fresh flowers, candles. All for a simple weeknight dinner. It seemed excessive, almost theatrical.

  "What's the occasion?" she asked, taking her usual seat.

  "Do I need an occasion to pamper my wife?" Aaron served the pasta with a flourish. "Especially after the rough few weeks you've had."

  Elise stared at the steaming plate before her. It looked delicious, smelled divine. Her stomach growled despite her apprehension.

  "Eat while it's hot," Aaron encouraged, taking his own seat. "I used that special olive oil you love."

  She picked up her fork, twirling pasta around it, watching Aaron from beneath her lashes. He was already eating enthusiastically, seemingly without a care in the world.

  Slowly, she brought the fork to her lips, then stopped.

  "Is something wrong?" Aaron asked, noticing her hesitation.

  "I... I'm not as hungry as I thought," she said, setting down her fork. "Maybe a bit later?"

  A flicker of irritation crossed Aaron's face before it was replaced with concern. "You need to eat, Elise. Dr. Bennett was very clear about maintaining your strength."

  "I know, I just—"

  "Just one bite? For me?" His voice was gentle, coaxing, but there was something underneath it—an insistence that made her heart race.

  Elise looked at her husband—his earnest expression, his encouraging smile. Was she really suspecting him of something so monstrous based on her estranged mother's wild accusations?

  Slowly, she raised the fork again and took a small bite. The pasta was perfectly cooked, the sauce rich and flavorful. Nothing unusual about the taste.

  "It's delicious," she said, and was rewarded with Aaron's brilliant smile.

  "I know how much you love it." He reached across the table to squeeze her hand. "I'd do anything to make you happy, Elise. You know that, right?"

  "I know," she replied, taking another small bite to please him.

  As they ate in companionable silence, Elise was acutely aware of the toxicologist's business card in her robe pocket, of the wine she'd poured down the drain, of the way Aaron watched her eat with perhaps too much attention.

  She was walking a dangerous line. If her suspicions were wrong, she was betraying the trust of the man who loved her most in the world. But if they were right—if her mother's warnings held even a grain of truth—then every bite, every sip in this house could be slowly killing her.

  Later, as Aaron cleared the dishes, humming contentedly, Elise felt the first wave of dizziness. The kitchen tilted slightly, the edges of her vision blurring. She gripped the table to steady herself.

  "You okay, love?" Aaron asked, immediately at her side.

  "Just tired," she murmured. And she was—bone-deep exhausted in a way that seemed to press against her from all sides.

  "Let's get you to bed." Aaron's arm circled her waist, supporting her as they climbed the stairs together. His embrace was strong, steady, inescapable.

  In their bedroom, he helped her out of her robe and into a nightgown with the practiced ease of a longtime spouse. There was nothing sexual in his touch—just efficiency, care.

  "Your pill," he reminded her, pressing a small white tablet into her palm along with a glass of water from the nightstand.

  Elise stared at it, her earlier suspicions battling with her increasing drowsiness. If she refused, what would happen? Would Aaron insist? Force her?

  "Elise?" he prompted. "You know Dr. Bennett said not to skip doses."

  Her vision swam again. Whatever was happening, she didn't have the strength to fight it now. Obediently, she placed the pill on her tongue, took a sip of water, and made a show of swallowing.

  But as Aaron turned to place the glass back on the nightstand, she discreetly tucked the pill into the side of her cheek, held it there as he tucked her into bed, kissed her goodnight, and turned out the light.

  "I'll join you in a bit," he said. "Just going to finish cleaning up downstairs."

  When he was gone, Elise quietly spat the pill into her hand and slipped it beneath her pillow. Even this small act of defiance took enormous effort. Whatever was affecting her hadn't come from the pill—it was already in her system, perhaps from the dinner Aaron had so carefully prepared.

  As darkness crowded the edges of her consciousness, a final thought formed with perfect clarity: she needed to start keeping track of reality. Needed a way to anchor herself against the gaslighting, the manipulation.

  With the last of her strength, she reached for her phone on the nightstand, opened the notes app, and typed a single line with shaking fingers:

  *Lena didn't kill herself. Aaron is poisoning me. Trust nothing he says.*

  Then, hearing his footsteps on the stairs, she quickly deleted the note, closed the app, and let her eyes fall shut, feigning sleep.

  Aaron entered the room quietly, moving around with familiar ease in the darkness. Elise kept her breathing deep and regular, feeling rather than seeing him pause beside the bed, looking down at her.

  "Sleep well, my love," he whispered, his voice tender, possessive.

  Through her lashes, barely open, she saw him retrieve something from his pocket—the pill she'd hidden beneath her pillow.

  He must have checked while she'd been pretending to sleep. He knew she hadn't taken it.

  A chill of pure fear ran through her even as unconsciousness pulled her under. Her last thought before darkness claimed her completely was of Lena's ring, disappearing into dark water, and Aaron's unwavering smile as he watched her eat the food he'd prepared with his own hands.