I saw her hand hover over my champagne glass for exactly three seconds. Three seconds that changed everything. The crystal flute sat on the head table, waiting for the toast, waiting for me to lift it to my lips and drink whatever my new mother-in-law had just slipped inside.
The small white pill dissolved quickly, leaving barely a trace in the golden bubbles. Caroline didn’t know I was watching. She thought I was across the reception hall, laughing with my bridesmaids, lost in the joy of my wedding day. She thought she was alone. She thought she was safe.
But I saw everything. My heart hammered against my ribs as I watched her glance around nervously, her manicured fingers trembling as she pulled them away from my glass. A small, satisfied smile curved her lips, the kind of smile that made my blood turn to ice. I didn’t think. I just moved.
By the time Caroline returned to her seat, smoothing down her expensive silk dress and painting on her mother-of-the-groom smile, I had already made the switch. My glass sat in front of her chair now. Her glass, the clean one, waited for me.
When Dylan stood up, handsome in his tailored tuxedo, and raised his champagne for the first toast of our married life, I felt like I was watching everything through a fog. His words about love and forever echoed strangely in my ears. His mother stood beside him, beaming, lifting the drugged champagne to her lips.
I should have stopped her. I should have screamed, knocked the glass away, and exposed her right there in front of everyone. But I didn’t. I wanted to see what she had planned for me. I wanted proof. I wanted everyone to see who Caroline really was beneath that perfect, charitable, pillar-of-the-community mask she wore.
So I watched my mother-in-law drink the poison she’d prepared for me. And then all hell broke loose.
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The morning of my wedding, I woke up believing in fairy tales. Sunlight streamed through the windows of the bridal suite at the Rosewood Estate, painting everything in soft gold. My best friend, Julia, was already awake, hanging my dress—a gorgeous ivory gown with delicate lace sleeves—near the window where it caught the light.
«Today’s the day, Lori,» she whispered, her eyes shining. «You’re marrying Dylan.»
I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt. Duh. My Dylan. After three years of dating, we were finally doing this, finally becoming husband and wife.
«I can’t believe it’s real,» I said, pressing my hands to my stomach where butterflies had taken up permanent residence.
My mother rushed in then, her hair already done, makeup perfect, holding a tray of coffee and pastries. «My beautiful girl,» she said, setting the tray down and pulling me into a tight hug. «I’m so proud of you.»
My younger sister, Emma, bounced in behind her, squealing. «The flowers just arrived and they’re gorgeous! Lori, everything is perfect!»
Everything was perfect. Or so I thought.
The ceremony went off without a hitch. I walked down the aisle on my father’s arm, his eyes wet with tears he tried to hide. The historic chapel was decorated with thousands of white roses and soft candlelight. Dylan stood at the altar, looking like every dream I’d ever had, his dark hair styled perfectly, his gray eyes locked on mine with such intensity that I forgot how to breathe.
When he lifted my veil and whispered, «You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,» I believed this was the beginning of my happily ever after. His best friend, Thomas, stood beside him as best man, grinning. Dylan’s younger brother, Andrew, just nineteen, looked uncomfortable in his tux but smiled warmly at me. I’d always gotten along well with Andrew.
Caroline sat in the front row, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief, playing the role of the emotional mother of the groom to perfection. Dylan’s father, Robert, sat stiff and formal beside her, his expression unreadable as always. We said our vows. We exchanged rings. We kissed while everyone cheered. I should have known it was too perfect to last.
The reception was held in the estate’s grand ballroom, a stunning space with soaring ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking manicured gardens. Three hundred guests filled the room: friends, family, colleagues, and distant relatives I barely knew. The first hour was magical. Dylan and I had our first dance to «At Last» by Etta James. I danced with my father while he cried openly. Dylan danced with his mother while she smiled that tight, controlled smile she always wore.
I was talking with Julia and my cousin Rachel near the dance floor when I first felt the prickle of unease on the back of my neck, that strange sixth sense that tells you someone is watching you. I turned and caught Caroline staring at me from across the room. It wasn’t the warm look of a new mother-in-law admiring her son’s bride. It was something cold, something calculating.
The moment our eyes met, her expression shifted into a pleasant smile. She raised her champagne glass slightly in my direction as if toasting me. I forced myself to smile back, but my stomach twisted.
«You okay?» Julia asked, touching my arm.
«Fine,» I lied. «Just overwhelmed. Happy overwhelmed.»
But I wasn’t fine. Something felt wrong, though I couldn’t name it. Caroline had never exactly welcomed me into the family. From the moment Dylan first introduced us two years ago, she’d been cool, polite but distant. She never said anything outright cruel, but there were a thousand small cuts: comments about my teaching job not being prestigious enough, questions about my family background that felt more like interrogations, and suggestions that Dylan might want to keep his options open since he was «still so young.»
Dylan always brushed it off. «Mom’s just protective,» he’d say. «She’ll come around.» She never did.
The weeks leading up to the wedding had been tense. Caroline had opinions about everything: the venue was too modest, my dress was too simple, the guest list had too many of my relatives and not enough of hers. She tried to take over the planning entirely, suggesting we postpone and «do it right» with her party planner, her caterer, her vision.
I’d stood my ground. This was my wedding—mine and Dylan’s. She’d smiled tightly and said, «Of course, dear. Whatever you think is best.» But her eyes had been ice. Now, watching her move through the crowd at my reception, perfectly dressed in a designer gown, perfectly coiffed, perfectly composed, I felt that unease growing stronger.
«Time for toasts soon,» Emma said, appearing at my elbow with a fresh champagne glass. «You ready?»
I took the glass, the crystal cool in my hand. «Ready as I’ll ever be.»
The champagne flutes had been arranged on the head table earlier, set up by the catering staff. One for me, one for Dylan, one for each member of the wedding party, and one for each parent giving a toast. I set my glass down at my designated seat and went to fix my makeup in the bridal suite. Julia came with me, chattering about how perfect everything was, how handsome Dylan looked, and how romantic the ceremony had been.
When we returned to the ballroom fifteen minutes later, the DJ was announcing that toasts would begin shortly. Guests were finding their seats, and the energy in the room shifted as everyone anticipated the speeches. I was halfway across the ballroom, laughing at something Julia said, when I saw her. Caroline. Standing at the head table. Alone.
Her back was to me, but I could see her arm extended, her hand hovering over the champagne glasses. I stopped walking, my heart suddenly pounding. What was she doing? She glanced left, then right, making sure no one was watching. Then her hand moved quickly, something small and white dropping from her fingers into one of the glasses. My glass. I could tell by the position, third from the left, exactly where I’d set it down.
The pill dissolved almost instantly in the bubbles. Caroline pulled her hand back, smoothed her dress, and turned away, heading back toward her table with quick, purposeful steps. My entire body went cold.
Julia was still talking, oblivious. «…and did you see how your dad was crying? It was so sweet.»
«Hold on,» I interrupted, my voice strange and distant in my own ears.
I walked toward the head table slowly, my mind racing. Had I really just seen what I thought I’d seen? Was Caroline really capable of something like that? But I knew what I’d witnessed. There was no mistaking it. The question was, what did I do about it?
I could scream, make a scene, accuse her in front of everyone. But what if I was wrong? What if it had been something innocent? A breath mint that accidentally fell, or some kind of supplement she was putting in her own drink and I’d miscounted the glasses? No, I knew what I’d seen. The furtive glances, the deliberate drop, the quick escape. She’d put something in my drink.
But why? What was it? A sedative to embarrass me? Something to make me sick? Or worse?
My hands were shaking as I approached the head table. The glasses stood in a neat row, golden and innocent-looking. Which one was poisoned now? I tried to remember the exact position: third from the left. My glass.
I looked around. No one was paying attention to me. The DJ was queuing up music, guests were chatting, and Dylan was across the room talking to his college roommate. I had maybe thirty seconds before the toast started. My hand reached out, trembling. I picked up the third glass from the left—my glass—and moved to the right side of the table where Caroline would stand for her toast. I picked up her glass and placed it exactly where mine had been. Then I set the drugged glass down where Caroline’s had been.
My heart hammered so hard I thought I might pass out. What was I doing? This was insane.
«Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats,» the DJ announced. «We’re about to begin the toasts.»
I jumped, nearly spilling the champagne. Quickly, I moved away from the table, my legs shaking. Julia grabbed my hand. «Come on. You need to sit down.»
I let her pull me to my seat at the head table. Dylan slid into the chair beside me, grinning, his hand finding mine under the table. «Ready for this?» he asked. I couldn’t speak. I just nodded.
My father stood first, unfolding a piece of paper with shaking hands. He made a beautiful speech about watching me grow up, about how proud he was, and about how Dylan better take care of his little girl or answer to him. Everyone laughed. I tried to smile, but my eyes kept drifting to the champagne glass sitting in front of Caroline’s designated spot. What had I done?
