When I arrived at the laboratory, a doctor in his early sixties greeted me.
He placed the test results on his desk.
For several seconds, he stared at the papers without saying a word.
Then he stood up, walked to the door, locked it, and asked an employee to close the other doors in the hallway as well.
“Ma’am, first I need to make sure nobody interrupts us.”
My hands began trembling.
“Did my husband poison me?”
The doctor didn’t answer.
Instead, he asked:
“How many years did your husband prepare breakfast for you?”
“Fifty-seven.”
“And during the last few years, have you experienced any unusual symptoms? Dizziness, weakness, memory loss?”
I remembered how easily I had become tired over the past ten years. Sometimes, I even forgot where I had put my belongings.
“Yes,” I whispered.
The doctor removed his glasses.
“We found a substance in the food that isn’t a typical breakfast ingredient.”
