My husband made dinner that night, and seconds after my son and I finished eating, we collapsed. I forced myself to lie still as if unconscious, and that’s when I heard him whisper on the phone, “It’s done. They’ll both be gone soon.”

At first, it was just a faint tingling on my tongue. Then came a dull heaviness, spreading through my mouth, sliding down my throat. My thoughts began to blur at the edges.

Across the table, Caleb blinked hard. His eyes looked glassy.

“Mom,” he whispered. “I feel weird. I’m really tired.”

Marcus placed a hand gently on our son’s shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “Just breathe. Let your body rest.”

A cold wave of panic slammed through me.

I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn’t obey. The room tilted. My hands grabbed the edge of the table as my body sagged into the chair.

The last thing I heard before the darkness closed around me was Caleb’s small, frightened voice.

“Mom?”

I couldn’t answer.

My body felt distant, no longer mine. I collapsed to the rug, the faint smell of laundry soap grounding me for one brief second. Somewhere nearby, Caleb had fallen too.

Then I heard Marcus’s footsteps.

Slow. Measured. Coming closer.

His shadow fell over me.

A light kick nudged my shoulder.

He was checking whether I would react.

I forced myself not to move.

After a pause, I heard him murmur one word.

“Good.”

I let my body go limp. I let him believe he had won.