We were celebrating our wedding anniversary with family at an upscale restaurant. When I went to the restroom, I caught a glimpse of my husband adding something to my drink. When I came back, I quietly switched glasses with his sister, the one who had always hated me and never missed a chance to humiliate me. But 30 minutes later, I remember that night in vivid detail. The glimmer of restaurant lights reflecting on the polished table, the clinking of glasses, the quiet hum of conversations around us.

20 years of marriage. 20 long years beside a man I thought I knew better than I knew myself. James smiled as he raised his glass, but his eyes were cold, like shards of ice. We celebrated our anniversary every year, but this time felt different.

On the surface, everything looked perfect. A fancy restaurant downtown, crisp white tablecloths, exquisite food. James’s whole family gathered around one table.

His mother, Elizabeth, with her perpetually pursed lips. His father, Robert, silent and lost in his own world. And of course, his sister Samantha, his beloved only sister, watching me with thinly veiled disdain.

For 20 years she never let me forget that I wasn’t good enough for her brother, that someone like me didn’t belong in their aristocratic family. I excused myself and left the table. I just needed a few minutes alone to pull myself together.

I spent nearly 10 minutes in the ladies’ room, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Fine lines near my eyes, a few silver strands woven into my once fiery red hair. At 42, I still looked good, but time had started to leave its mark.

Maybe that was it. Maybe James had started looking at younger women. That thought had been eating at me for months now, ever since his behavior began to shift in subtle, unsettling ways.

As I returned to the table, I paused behind a column. Something caught my eye. James, thinking no one was watching, picked up my wine glass and poured something into it from a tiny packet he had hidden in his hand.

The motion was so quick, I almost missed it. My heart leapt into my throat. I couldn’t believe what I’d just seen.

My husband, the man I’d spent two decades with, had just slipped something into my drink. I leaned against the column, trying to steady the shaking in my knees. What was it? A sedative.

Poison. Ridiculous thoughts raced through my mind like a storm. Why would he do this? What was going on? Frozen in shock, I watched as James leaned in and whispered something to Samantha.

They had always been close, too close. Always a team, especially when it came to pushing me out. Then the decision came to me, like someone whispering it in my ear.

I’d go back to the table, smile, act like everything was fine. And when the moment came, I’d swap the glasses, mine for Samantha’s. Let her drink whatever his precious little family had prepared for me.

I wasn’t going to be their victim. Once I made the decision, a strange calm settled over me. I smiled at my reflection in the column’s mirrored surface and walked back to the table, wearing a mask of carefree ease.

After 20 years, I’d become a decent actress. I had to be, in this family, grace under pressure was everything. I’d swallowed Samantha’s insults more times than I could count, pretending not to hear her jabs.

I’d turned a blind eye to my mother-in-law’s disapproving stares, even after all these years of marriage she still thought James had made a mistake. James greeted me with a smile, but I noticed the tension in his shoulders. Everything okay, darling? he asked, helping me back into my seat.

I nodded and smiled, making sure it reached my eyes. Of course. Just a little tired.

Samantha, never one to miss a chance, jumped in immediately. Emily, you don’t look well. Maybe you and James should call it a night.

Anniversary or not, if you’re not feeling great, she didn’t finish, her thin lips curving into a faux-sympathetic smile. Thanks for your concern, Samantha, but I feel just fine, I replied evenly. Though I think you should try this lovely wine.

It goes beautifully with your dress. I gestured to her deep burgundy gown and lifted my glass, pretending to take a sip. Samantha, always eager for a compliment, especially one about her impeccable style, smiled with satisfaction and reached for her own glass.

Now all I had to do was wait for the right moment. The waiter brought out the main course, and everyone turned their attention to the food. I quietly set down my glass, pretending to search for something in my purse.

Then, while Samantha was animatedly telling my mother-in-law about her latest trip to Europe, I made the switch, fast and discreet. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure everyone could hear it. James gave me a strange look, and for a second, I thought he’d caught on.

But he said nothing, just cut a piece of meat and continued chatting with his father. Samantha, finishing her story, raised her glass. A toast to the happy couple, she said with a smile that never reached her cold eyes.

To James and Emily. Twenty years together is no small feat. To you both, echoed her parents.

I watched as Samantha brought the glass, my glass, to her lips and took a generous sip. Then she smiled at me from across the table, her eyes gleaming with such smug satisfaction that I hesitated. Had I made a mistake? Had I imagined the whole thing? Maybe James hadn’t put anything in my drink at all.

The next thirty minutes dragged on endlessly. I barely touched the wine in Samantha’s glass, just pretended to sip. The conversation drifted from family updates to work and future plans.

James spoke about the expansion of his business, while Samantha chimed in, as usual, eager to show how in the know she was about everything her brother did. Then, suddenly, she went silent mid-sentence. The hand holding her fork trembled and froze in the air.

A strange spasm crossed her face, and her eyes widened, whether in fear or shock, I couldn’t tell. Samantha, are you okay? James asked, worry flashing across his face as he noticed the change in her first. Samantha tried to speak, but only a hoarse sound came out.

She clutched her chest, red blotches spreading across her skin. Her fork clattered onto the plate. I… I don’t feel well, she finally managed, just before her eyes rolled back and she began to slide from her chair.

It all happened so fast, I didn’t even have time to process what I was feeling. Shock. Terror.

The horrifying realization that there was something in that glass. And now Samantha had taken the hit. James leapt toward his sister, catching her limp body.

My mother-in-law screamed, drawing the attention of the entire restaurant. Call an ambulance. Someone call an ambulance, now.

James barked, his voice trembling with panic. I sat frozen, unable to move, as I watched the wait staff rushing around, the manager on the phone with emergency services, my mother-in-law sobbing over her motionless daughter. And through it all, one thought kept echoing in my head.

What have I done? But even through the horror, a colder, sharper truth cut through. What had my husband tried to do to me? By the time the ambulance arrived, Samantha still hadn’t regained consciousness. The paramedics quickly lifted her onto a stretcher and began asking questions about what she had eaten or drunk.

James, pale as a sheet, answered haltingly, avoiding eye contact with me. I’ll go with her, my mother-in-law said, grabbing her purse. So will I, James chimed in immediately.

I stood up. I’m coming too. James looked at me like he’d just remembered I was there.

Something flickered in his eyes, fear, anger, maybe even disgust. I couldn’t quite tell. No, he said sharply.

Stay with my father. We’ll call with updates. I opened my mouth to protest, but my father-in-law gently placed a hand on my shoulder.

Let them go. We’d only be in the doctor’s way. I watched them leave, James supporting his sobbing mother, the paramedics wheeling Samantha out.

The restaurant doors closed behind them, and suddenly it was just me and my father-in-law at the table, surrounded by half-eaten food and untouched glasses of wine. Robert let out a long sigh and gave me a thoughtful, lingering look. Strange, all of this, isn’t it, he said quietly.

I couldn’t tell what he meant. Did he know something? Was he suspicious of me? Or, was he suspicious of his own son? Yes. Strange, I agreed, unsure what else to say.

Robert nodded, like I had confirmed something he’d been thinking. He motioned to the waiter. The check, please.

And call us a cab. We rode home in silence. I stared out the window at the city lights flashing past, my mind racing.

What had been in that packet? Poison. Drugs. But most of all, why? Why would James try to poison me, and on our anniversary, no less? Right there, in front of his entire family.

My thoughts drifted through the years we’d spent together. When had things gone wrong? When had the crack in our relationship widened into a canyon? We met when I was 22 and he was 27. He was a young, successful businessman from a wealthy family.

I was just a girl from a small town, new to New York, studying and chasing my dreams. We fell for each other fast, and within six months, he proposed. His family opposed our marriage from the very beginning, especially Samantha.

She was two years older than James and had always taken it upon herself to guide her little brother. The day he brought me home to meet them, I could feel her dislike instantly. She looked me up and down like she was inspecting a used car and turned to James.

You sure about this? She didn’t even ask me, just him. Like I was an object he was thinking about purchasing. But James loved me back then.

At least, I thought he did. He ignored his sister, his parents, everyone. And we got married, despite all of their objections.

The first few years were happy. We had a daughter, Catherine, and I hoped that would soften his family’s attitude toward me. But it didn’t.

They adored Catherine, doted on her, but I remained an outsider. Over time, I learned to live with it. I learned to smile through Samantha’s biting remarks.