Chapter 3 - Uncovering the Poison
I called my neighbor, Clara, a retired nurse who loved Lily like her own granddaughter, to watch her for a few hours. I didn't explain everything—just told her there was a family emergency at the hospital.
Before leaving, I rushed up to our master bedroom. The house felt unnaturally quiet without the usual sound of Sarah’s laugh or the faint melody of her playing the piano. I approached her bedside table, pulling out the drawer. It contained the usual items: reading glasses, a half-read paperback, hand cream. I reached inside, feeling for the false bottom. Sure enough, the velvet lining gave way to a slight pressure, revealing a shallow compartment underneath.
Inside lay three small, unlabeled glass vials with rubber stoppers, alongside a small notebook.
I flipped the notebook open. It wasn't Sarah’s handwriting; it was Marlene's meticulous script. Page after page listed dates, times, and small dosages of something abbreviated as D.X.N. Beside each entry were notes on Sarah's symptoms: Oct 12: Slight tremor, fatigue. Nov 04: Vertigo, faintness. Ethan suspects nothing. Jan 18: Hospitalized. Doctor believes it is panic attacks.
My hands shook so violently I nearly dropped the book. D.X.N. Digoxin. A powerful heart medication. In precise doses, it could simulate chronic fatigue, heart arrhythmia, and severe weakness. In larger doses, it was lethal. Sarah didn't have a heart condition. Marlene was systematically poisoning her own daughter.
Why? What mother could possibly do this to her child?
I grabbed the vials and the notebook, stuffing them securely into my jacket, and rushed out to my car. The drive to St. Jude Memorial was a blur of flashing traffic lights and gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.
When I arrived at Room 412, two guards were posted outside the door. My heart sank.
"I'm sorry, sir. No visitors allowed," one of the guards said, stepping forward to block my path.
"That's my wife in there! Sarah Hayes!" I argued, taking a step closer.
"Dr. Vance placed strict orders. Only primary family delegates are permitted. Mrs. Marlene Whitaker is listed as the sole medical power of attorney."
"What?" I shouted. "I'm her husband!"
"The paperwork on file names Mrs. Whitaker, signed six weeks ago," the guard stated plainly. "You need to clear this with hospital administration, sir."
Six weeks ago, Sarah had been heavily medicated after her last "attack." She had signed forms thinking they were insurance documents. Marlene had trapped us in a legal snare.
As I stood there, arguing desperately, the door to Room 412 cracked open. A young doctor with tired eyes and a dark ponytail stepped out. She looked at my face, then at the guards. Her name tag read Dr. Evelyn Reed.
"Are you Ethan Hayes?" she asked quietly.
May you like
"Yes! Please, let me see my wife."
Dr. Reed looked around, then motioned for me to follow her down the corridor toward a quiet alcove near the stairwell. "I'm the resident on duty for this floor," she whispered. "I was the one who sent you that text message."
