“My poor husband,” Victoria said. “He worked too hard. I begged him to slow down.”
My wife.
Even through the padded walls of the coffin, I recognized the practiced tremble in her voice.
People rushed to comfort her.
Someone told her she had been a devoted wife.
Someone else said I had been lucky to have her.
If I could have laughed, I would have.
Then I remembered the tea.
Victoria had brought it to me the night before while I lay weak and dizzy in bed.
“Drink this,” she had whispered gently. “Dr. Vance says it’ll help your heart.”
Dr. Harrison Vance.
My private cardiologist.
My oldest friend.
The man I had trusted with my life.
I remembered taking three sips.
I remembered the room tilting.
I remembered Victoria watching me over the rim of the cup.
Not worried.
Waiting.
Then darkness.
