At Thanksgiving dinner, my son said his steak smelled strange and refused to eat it. My mother scolded him for being picky, but when my nephew reached over to take the steak for himself, my wife suddenly went pale and screamed, "No! Don’t eat that!"

The drive to the emergency veterinary clinic in Cedar Rapids was a blur of red lights, speeding tires, and the agonizing sound of Buddy’s ragged breathing from the backseat. Lauren sat on the floor of the SUV, her hands covered in dog saliva and foam, weeping as she stroked his golden fur. Ethan was buckled tightly in his booster seat next to her, his knees pulled to his chest, silent and catatonic with fear.

"Hold on, Buddy, please hold on," Lauren whispered over and over, her voice a mantra of desperation.

I drove like a madman, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly the leather groaned. My mind was spinning out of control, replaying every interaction I’d had with Megan over the past year. The sudden interest she’d taken in my life insurance policy after my father passed away. The way she always volunteered to make my coffee when they visited. The subtle, insidious suggestions she made to my mother that I was working too hard, that my heart was weak, that I looked 'pale' and 'stressed.'

It hadn't been stress. She had been practicing.

We fishtailed into the parking lot of the 24-hour emergency vet clinic, the tires screeching on the thin layer of black ice. I didn't wait for Lauren. I jumped out, yanked the back door open, and scooped Buddy’s heavy, unresponsive body into my arms.

"Help!" I shouted as I kicked open the glass clinic doors, my voice echoing off the sterile tile walls. "My dog’s been poisoned! Please, somebody help him!"

Two veterinary technicians rushed out from behind the desk, bringing a rolling gurney with them. We hoisted Buddy onto it, his tongue lolling uselessly from his mouth. A young veterinarian with tired eyes and a green scrub top burst through the double doors of the back room.

"What happened? What did he ingest?" she asked sharply, checking Buddy’s pupillary response with a small penlight.

"Organophosphate or a severe toxin," I said, my voice cracking. I didn't know the exact chemical, but the rapid onset, the seizures, and the chemical smell on the steak pointed to something lethal. "He licked a plate of meat that had been intentionally poisoned. It smelled like crushed aspirin and old pennies. Chemical. Bitter."

The vet’s face hardened. "Sounds like a concentrated pesticide or a heavy metal compound. Sodium azide or something similar. We need to pump his stomach and start an IV lipid infusion immediately. Get him to the back!"

As they wheeled Buddy away, the double doors swinging shut behind them, the adrenaline that had kept me moving suddenly drained out of my legs. I sank into a plastic waiting room chair, buried my face in my hands, and dry-heaved.

Lauren sat beside me, wrapping her arms around my torso. She was shivering violently, her entire body racked with a delayed shock. Ethan crawled onto my lap, burying his face in my neck, his small hands clutching the collar of my shirt as if he were falling off a cliff.

"Is Buddy going to die, Daddy?" Ethan whispered, his tears hot against my skin.

"The doctors are very smart, buddy. They’re doing everything they can," I lied, my voice shaking.

Ten minutes later, the clinic doors slid open again. I expected to see Chris, or maybe my mother, coming to apologize or offer an explanation. Instead, two uniformed Cedar Rapids police officers walked in.

One of them, an older officer with a mustache and a badge that read Officer Miller, looked around the waiting room until his eyes landed on us. He walked over, his heavy duty belt clicking with every step.

"Mr. and Mrs. Vance?" he asked.

I stood up, keeping Ethan close to my hip. "Yes. I’m Daniel Vance."

"We received a 911 call from a Mrs. Patricia Vance’s residence about a domestic disturbance and a potential poisoning," Miller said, pulling out a small notepad. "The caller was your brother, Chris Vance. He said his wife ran out of the house into the woods, and that you threatened her life."

I let out a harsh, humorless laugh that sounded like a bark. "He called you because his wife just tried to murder me, and she accidentally poisoned our dog instead."