“I have a 104-degree fever.
Adrian refused to take me to the hospital, and his mother threw a bucket of ice water on me because I couldn’t get up to cook.”
Gasps moved through the patio.
Margaret rushed forward.
“She’s exaggerating!”
Uncle Theodore touched my forehead.
His eyes widened.
“My God, this girl is burning up!”
I tried to answer.
My lungs wouldn’t cooperate.
“I… I can’t breathe—”
The sunlight disappeared.
When I woke again, I heard a monitor.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
White ceiling.
White walls.
Hospital.
A nurse noticed my eyes opening.
“Camille?”
I tried to speak.
My throat hurt.
“You’re safe.”
Safe.
That word made tears fill my eyes.
The nurse gave me water.
She explained that I had been brought to Mercy Harbor Medical Center in downtown Baltimore.
Uncle Theodore had called the ambulance.
My oxygen level had been dangerously low.
I had a severe respiratory infection.
I also had significant dehydration.
But that wasn’t all.
Several hours later, another nurse entered.
Her badge read MARIA SANTOS, RN.
She checked my chart.
Then she closed the door.
“Mrs. Bennett, we found something concerning.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“Your crisis doesn’t appear to be caused solely by the respiratory infection.”
She explained that the doctors had found traces of a compound consistent with concentrated sedative herbal preparations.
I stared at her.
I had not knowingly taken anything like that.
Then I remembered the tea.
Two nights earlier, Margaret had entered my bedroom carrying a porcelain cup.
“It’s an all-natural remedy, dear.”
The tea had tasted unusually bitter.
I drank half.
Within an hour, I became extremely drowsy.
The next morning, my memory felt foggy.
I had blamed the fever.
Now I wasn’t sure.
Maria continued.
“There is something else.”
I waited.
“The man who checked you in asked several questions.”
“What questions?”
“He wanted to know whether the substance could cause confusion.”
My fingers tightened around the blanket.
“He asked about long-term memory loss.”
I felt cold.
“And temporary mental incapacitation.”
I stared at her.
“Who?”
She hesitated.
“Your husband.”
Adrian.
I closed my eyes.
For a moment, I heard nothing except the monitor.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Then a memory surfaced.
Three weeks earlier, Adrian had asked me whether I had updated my will.
I thought it was random.
Another memory followed.
Margaret had recently started making comments about my forgetfulness.
Camille misplaced her keys again.
Camille seems confused lately.
Camille isn’t herself.
At dinner, she once told Vanessa that I had repeated a story twice.
I hadn’t.
When I corrected her, Margaret smiled.
“See?
She doesn’t even remember.”
Everyone laughed.
At the time, I thought it was another cruel joke.
Now it looked different.
I asked Maria for my phone.
She told me Adrian had my belongings.
My stomach dropped.
“Can I use the hospital phone?”
“Of course.”
I knew one number from memory.
Daniel Mercer.
An attorney who had handled the formation of my design company six years earlier.
He answered on the fourth ring.
“Mercer.”
“Daniel.”
There was a pause.
“Camille?”
“Yes.”
“You sound terrible.”
“I need help.”
His tone changed immediately.
“What happened?”
I told him enough.
The locked bedroom.
The fever.
The tea.
The hospital.
Adrian’s questions.
Daniel didn’t interrupt.
When I finished, he asked one thing.
“Do you want me there?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there within an hour.”
He arrived in forty-three minutes.
Daniel was fifty-eight.
Calm.
Methodical.
Impossible to intimidate.
He sat beside my bed with a legal pad.
“Start from the beginning.”
