“Youre looking rather pale, love,” murmured my mother-in-law, discreetly swapping my heart medication. But she didnt know I had cameras everywhere. Her voice, sticky as treacle, dripped with false sweetness.
She stood by the kitchen table, her back to me, her hand hovering over my pill organiser. I pretended to lean weakly against the doorframe. My heart pounded, but not from illness. Inside my dressing gown pocket, my finger zoomed in on my phone screen.
The camera, tiny as a poppy seed, was hidden in the salt shaker. Id placed it there myself. Just like the one in the smoke alarm. And the teddy bear. This was my quiet, invisible war.
Her fingersquick, practisedopened the compartment labelled *Morning*. My pill tumbled into her palm. Then, from the folds of her housecoat, another appeareddull, chalky, a worthless placebo.
She was poisoning me.
“Blood pressure, I suppose,” I whispered, stepping into the kitchen. “Slept poorly.”
Margaretmy mother-in-lawturned. Her face was a masterpiece of concern, perfected over decades.
“I told your Tim, you mustnt overwork yourself! Here, take your medicine and rest.” She handed me a glass of water and the open organiser, its morning slot now holding the fake pill. I met her grateful, deceitful eyes.
“Thank you, Mum,” I said, taking it.
My husband, Timothy, walked in, dressed for work. He kissed my temple, his lips warm and oblivious.
“Katie, Mums right. You look peaky. Maybe call in sick?”
“Im fine,” I forced a smile. “Just tired.”
I theatrically placed the dummy pill on my tongue and swallowed.
Margaret nodded, satisfied. For a second, her gaze turned hard, triumphant. Her plan was simple.
Day by day, weaken me. Then, with a sigh, tell her son: *I warned you, shes fragile. She needs proper carea specialised facility.*
She didnt know about the cameras. The “smart home” system Id installed for “security.” Tim had laughed at my paranoia. Now, that paranoia was my only weapon.
The flat was a stage, and I was its director.
That night, once everyone slept, I opened my laptop. The days recordings played. There was Margaret, whispering to my father-in-law, Harold.
“another fortnight, and shell beg for hospital. Just keep Tim in the dark. Poor lad loves her too much.”
Harold grunted approval behind his newspaper. So, he was complicit. Not just a witnessan accomplice.
I closed the laptop. No cold furyjust crystal clarity. The show was about to begin. And tomorrow was opening night.
Morning arrived with my carefully rehearsed faint. I crumpled in the hallway just as Tim left the bedroom.
“Katie!”
He rushed to me. Margaret scurried in, voice trembling with feigned horror.
“Timothy, I *knew* this would happen! Shes getting worse!”
“Water” I whispered, fluttering my eyelids. “Dizzy”
While Tim ran to the kitchen, I locked eyes with Margaret. She smirked, thinking her plan flawless.
At lunch, I called Tim at work.
“Tim, I cant find my pills. Mum says I took them, but I dont remember. Im scared.”
In the background, Margaret muttered. I knew her lines. *Memory loss, Tim. A very bad sign.*
He wavered. Loved me, but cowed by her lifelong authority. Perfect. The groundwork was laid.
That evening, I gathered them in the lounge. Harold scowled. Margaret perched beside Tim, ready to “comfort” him.
“I need to talk about my health,” I murmured, staring at the carpet.
Tim stiffened.
“Katie, well sort this. Well see the best specialist”
“No. Its not doctors.” I met his gaze. “I think Im losing my mind.”
Margaret patted his shoulder.
“Darling, dont be silly! Just exhaustion.”
“No, *Mum*,” I said softly. “I think someones trying to harm me. On purpose.”
Fear flickered in her eyes. Harold coughed.
“Katherine, this is paranoia.”
“Maybe.” I shrugged. “Thats why I want the truth. All of you.”
I picked up my phone. The screen stayed dark, but my thumb hovered over the icon.
“Tim,” I said firmly. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course, love. But”
“Then watch.”
I glanced at Margaret and Harold. Their faces froze. Not yet understanding, but animal fear already tightening their features.
“And now, ladies and gents,” I said into the silence, “the premiere.”
I pressed play.
The telly lit up. Crystal-clear footage from the smoke detector showed Margaret at my pill organiser. Close-up: her hands swapping my medication.
Tim recoiled as if struck.
“Mum? What is this?”
“Itsits edited!” Margaret shrieked, lurching up. “She set this up! Lying little!”
Harold jumped in, waving his arms.
“Tim, this is nonsense! A stunt!”
I switched cameras. Their bedroom last night. Perfect audio.
*”Another week, and shell beg for hospital. Keep Timothy blind. The boys too soft.”*
Tim turned slowly to his mother. His face paled.
“Mum?”
She snapped. The caring mask shattered, revealing naked hate.
“Yes! *Yes*, I did it! For *you*! To save you from *her*!” She clawed at his shirt. “Shes sickly! Weak! Cant even give you children! This flat shouldve been *ours*! I *sacrificed* for you, and you brought home thisthis *hollow little doll*!”
*Hollow.*
The word hit Tim harder than any video. He shoved her off. Harold tried to intervene, too late.
“I wanted you *happy*! With a *proper* wife!”
I turned off the telly.
“Thanks, Mum. Think that clears things up.”
I stood, opened the sideboard, and slid a thick folder across the table.
“Copies of my police report. Three weeks of recordings. *Attempted poisoning.* The originals are already with the inspector.”
Margaret froze mid-scream. Harolds knuckles whitened on the chair.
“One more thing,” I said evenly. “This is my parents flat. Our prenup states any criminal act against me forfeits your right to stay.”
I checked the clock.
“Youve thirty minutes to pack and leave. After that, I call the inspector to escort you out. Clocks ticking.”
Silence. Margaret gaped, all rage drained to grey helplessness.
Harold moved first. He heaved up and trudged to their room. Wardrobe doors rattled.
Margaret made one last plea. She turned to Tim with a grotesque smile.
“Timothy *son* You wouldnt throw out your own mother?”
Tim didnt look at her. His eyes darted between the folder and me.
“Youd do *anything* for me” she began, but her voice broke.
He lifted his head. No love left. Just emptiness.
“Go, Mum,” he whispered.
It broke her. She staggered after Harold.
Twenty minutes of frantic packing. No words. I sat. Tim stood at the window, back to me. We waited.
Finally, they left. Suitcases in hand. Margarets parting glare couldve poisoned the whole street. But she stayed silent.
The door clicked shut.
And just like that, the air changed. Clean. Light. Like opening windows after a suffocating winter.
Tim turned to me. Exhausted.
“Katie Im sorry. I shouldveI shouldve *seen*.”
He stepped closer, but I held up a hand. Not to push him away. To pause.
“You werent a fool, Tim. You loved your mum. I loved you. Thats why I endured it.”
I walked to the organiser, opened *Morning*, and took the real pillthe one Id been secretly taking in the loo.
“Im not weak,” I said, swallowing it. “Just patient. But patience runs out.”
He stared as if Id aged a decade in front of him.
“What now?” he asked.
Fair question. The police report stood. Theyd face court. Maybe probation, a hefty fine. Legally, that was that.
But us?
“Now,” I said, meeting his eyes, “we learn to live differently. Just us. No lies. No games.”
*And youll learn to see me. Not some frail girl to coddle, but the woman who just saved us both.*
In his eyes, I saw more than guilt. Something new. Respect. Maybe even a little fear.
And that wasnt