Two days after my son’s wedding, the restaurant manager called me and said, “We checked the security footage again. You need to see this yourself.” Then he told me to come alone… and not to tell my wife.

Beatrice took a sip of champagne.

“Soon,” she said. “I switched his heart medication three weeks ago. I’ve been crushing digoxin into his morning smoothies. One day he’ll fall asleep and not wake up. Then we own everything.”

The room lost its air.

For forty years, this woman had prayed over my meals, held my hand in hospitals, and smiled at me across breakfast tables.

And every morning, she had been poisoning me.

Then came the final blow.

Megan asked something about Terrence’s gullibility.

Beatrice smiled and said, “He gets that from his father.”

Megan frowned. “Elijah?”

“No,” Beatrice said. “Terrence is Silas’s son.”