It was supposed to be a perfect night. Our 20th wedding anniversary. A celebration surrounded by family, laughter, and expensive wine. Yet, that evening became the moment I realized that love could hide the darkest secrets.
We were at an elegant restaurant in the heart of Madrid — soft lights, murmured conversations, crystal glasses that shimmered under the chandeliers. My husband, Miguel, smiled at me from across the table. To everyone else, we looked like a couple still in love after two decades. But behind that smile, I sensed something colder. Something unfamiliar.
Sitting with us were his parents — his mother, Isabel, who never approved of me, and his father, Antonio, silent as always. Then there was Lucia, Miguel’s sister — polished, condescending, and always ready to remind me that I never belonged in their family. She was the kind of woman whose compliments carried poison.
When I excused myself to the restroom, I just wanted a moment of peace. But as I stepped out, I caught sight of Miguel doing something strange. He leaned toward my glass, took out a small packet, and poured something into my drink. His movement was so quick that anyone else might have missed it. My heart froze.
Was that… poison? Or something harmless?
I stood there trembling, hidden behind a column, watching the man I had trusted for 20 years. Then I saw him whisper something to Lucia, and a chill ran through me. My instincts screamed a warning.
When I returned to the table, I smiled as if nothing had happened. I waited until no one was looking, and when the moment came, I switched our glasses—mine for Lucia’s. Let her taste what they had prepared for me.
We continued our meal. Lucia mocked me between bites, Miguel pretended not to hear, and I tried to keep my hands from shaking. Then, as we toasted, Lucia took a long sip from her glass — the one that was meant to be mine.
Minutes later, she began coughing. Her hand trembled. Her face turned pale, then blotchy red. She clutched her chest and collapsed. Screams filled the restaurant. Miguel rushed to her side, his voice breaking as he called her name. My mother-in-law cried out for help while I sat frozen, realizing what I had done.
The ambulance arrived. Lucia was unconscious when they took her away. Miguel refused to look at me. His eyes were full of something between fear and accusation. That night, he didn’t come home.
An hour later, the phone rang.
“She’s in intensive care,” he said. “The doctors say it was poisoning. Elena… you didn’t drink from your glass, did you?”
I lied. “No. I barely touched it.”
There was silence on the line. A heavy, suspicious silence.
When the police came the next morning, I knew everything was spiraling out of control. They questioned me about dinner, about what I saw, about the wine. I said nothing. I couldn’t admit what I had done. But I also couldn’t stop thinking: if I hadn’t switched the glasses, I might be the one in that hospital bed.
Later that night, I received a call from my father-in-law. His voice was low and urgent.
“Elena, listen carefully,” he said. “Don’t stay there. Leave the house. Right now.”
Before I could ask why, he hung up.
Fear consumed me. I packed a small bag, grabbed some money, and left. I didn’t know where to go until I thought of Pilar, an old friend from university. When she opened her door and saw my face, she didn’t even ask questions.
Inside, I told her everything — how I saw Miguel with the packet, how I switched the glasses, how Lucia fell. Pilar listened quietly, her eyes wide.
“Elena,” she whispered, “do you realize what this means? If Miguel really tried to poison you, then Lucia wasn’t the target. You were.”
Her words pierced me.
She asked if Miguel had any reason — money, jealousy, another woman. I didn’t know. But then I remembered something. A conversation I overheard between Miguel and Lucia weeks ago:
“You have to find a way that doesn’t raise suspicion,” Lucia said. “Time is running out.”
At the time, I thought it was about business. Now I wasn’t so sure.
Pilar asked if we had life insurance. We did. A large amount. And Miguel was the sole beneficiary. Suddenly, everything made sense — the distance, the coldness, the secrecy. Maybe money had become more important than the years we shared.
That night, my phone buzzed again. It was Miguel. I didn’t answer. Then a message appeared:
“Where are you? Call me. It’s urgent.”
I turned off the phone. Because deep down, I already knew the truth.
I wasn’t the woman Miguel wanted beside him anymore. I was the obstacle standing between him and his freedom — or something even darker.