Diego’s smile widened with quiet satisfaction.

“Good girl,” he murmured, stroking my hair as I lay down. “Sleep well, my love.”

I closed my eyes.

I waited until his breathing became deep and even.

Then I got up silently, went to the bathroom, and forced myself to vomit everything I had just swallowed.

I rinsed my mouth, brushed my teeth, and returned to bed.

That was the last night Diego ever brought me warm water with honey.

The next morning, I woke up before him.

I made breakfast as usual — eggs, fresh orange juice, toast with avocado.

I even hummed a little song while cooking, the same way I had done for years.

When Diego came downstairs, he kissed my cheek and sat down at the table, scrolling through his phone.

“You look beautiful this morning, my little wife,” he said without looking up.

I smiled and placed his plate in front of him.

“Thank you, darling.”

We ate in comfortable silence.

After breakfast, while he was taking a shower, I made the call.

My lawyer, Isabel, answered on the first ring.

“Everything is ready,” I told her. “Today.”

She didn’t ask questions. She had been preparing this moment with me for three months.

At 10:30 a.m., while Diego was at his yoga studio teaching a private class, two police officers and a prosecutor arrived at our house with a search warrant.

They found the small amber vial exactly where I had seen him hide it — in the back of the spice drawer, behind the cinnamon.

They also found the larger supply in a locked box in the garage.

The lab results from the samples I had saved over the past three months confirmed everything……………….