I stood up, my hands no longer shaking. I knew I couldn’t just confront them. If I screamed, if I threw a tantrum, it would only play directly into their narrative that I was unstable.

I needed undeniable, bulletproof proof.
I quietly walked over to my travel bag and unzipped the side pocket. Inside was a small, high-quality digital voice recorder that Julian used to capture his real estate consultations and thoughts. I checked the battery—full. I pressed the silent record button, ensuring the tiny red LED indicator was obscured, and slipped it deep into the pocket of my oversized cardigan.
I took a deep, steadying breath, forced a fragile, helpless expression back onto my face, and walked out of the room. I descended the stairs slowly, deliberately letting my slippers scuff against the wood to alert them of my approach.
When I entered the kitchen, the sudden silence was deafening. My mother was standing by the stove, a porcelain teacup in her hand. She gave me a warm, completely artificial smile.
“Oh, Madison, sweetie. You’re awake,” she said, her voice dripping with counterfeit sympathy. “I was just making you some chamomile tea to help settle your poor, fragile nerves. Here, sit down.”
“Thank you, Mom,” I murmured, keeping my voice small, meek, and trembling. I took the seat opposite my father, who couldn’t even look me in the eye. He stared intently at his newspaper, his hands visibly shaking.
I took the cup from my mother, the warmth of the ceramic radiating into my palms. I knew exactly what was dissolved in that amber liquid. I brought the cup close to my lips, letting the steam rise past my face, and then feigned a sudden, violent coughing fit.

I reached for a napkin, deliberately knocking a glass of water off the edge of the table.
As it shattered on the tile floor and my parents instinctively jumped back, I swiftly poured the drugged tea into a nearby potted fern on the windowsill, leaving just a tiny drop at the bottom of the cup.
“Oh, I’m so clumsy,” I cried out softly, wiping at my dry eyes. “I’m just so confused and tired.”
“It’s alright, completely understandable,” Eleanor said, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of irritation and triumph as she looked at the empty cup in my hand. “Why don’t you head back upstairs? The medicine… I mean, the tea will kick in very soon.”