Later, Mark went upstairs to shower.

The moment the bathroom door closed, I collected clean bags, gloves, and my keys.

Then I drove back to Judith’s house.

The dining room still looked exactly as everyone had left it.

A chair had been pushed aside.

Glasses were half full.

Napkins lay on the floor.

And the bowls were still on the table.

I carefully secured the bowl Judith had eaten from.

Then the spoon.

Under the table, I spotted something small and white.

The empty packet.

Mark must have dropped it during the confusion.

I sealed that separately.

I didn’t know whether any of it would matter legally.

I only knew that if the house was cleaned, whatever answers were there could disappear.

When I returned home, Mark was waiting.

“Where were you?”

“I went back.”

“Why?”

“I thought I left something.”

His expression sharpened.

“You weren’t carrying anything earlier.”

I held his gaze.

“It’s been a long night.”

For several seconds, neither of us moved.

Then he looked away.

Neither of us slept much.

The next morning, Karen called.

“They don’t think Mom had a stroke.”

I sat down.

“What do they think?”

“They’re running more tests.”

Across the kitchen, Mark held a newspaper he clearly wasn’t reading.

That afternoon, I visited my longtime doctor, Emily Lawson.

After hearing what happened, she closed the examination-room door.

“Diane, I need to ask you something unusual.”

“Okay.”

“Has anyone had regular access to your food or medication?”

My stomach tightened.

“Why?”

She turned the computer monitor toward me.

“One of your earlier blood tests showed traces of a prescription sedative. The amount was very low, and at the time we couldn’t determine whether it meant anything. I ordered a follow-up test, but you canceled when you said you were feeling better.”

I barely remembered canceling.

“Have you knowingly taken sedatives?”

“No.”