For the first time in three months, I felt that our home wasn’t empty.
Because some people leave this world, but their love remains in the simplest things.
Even in a plate of warm breakfast.
And I, who had spent two days believing my husband had been trying to kill me for years, finally understood the truth: he had spent the last twelve years of his life waking up every morning, doing everything he could to keep me by his side just a little longer.
What would you do if, after your husband’s death, you discovered that he had secretly been adding something to your food for years? Would you trust his love, or would you immediately suspect the worst?
