The latex gloves had a faint powdery smell. I remember that more clearly than the clock, though it was exactly 2:17 a.m. when Marcus came into our bedroom.

I didn’t move. For weeks, I’d been feeling worn out after the chamomile tea Marcus brought me every night. That evening, I poured mine down the sink, rinsed the cup, climbed into bed, and pretended to sleep. I thought I might be wrong.

I also knew I couldn’t keep drinking it just to be polite.

Marcus came in carrying a black bag. He set a small camera beside the bed, pointed toward me, and whispered, “Sweet dreams, Anna.” Then he opened the bag. I saw tiny bottles, photographs, and a stack of handwritten notes. One photograph showed a woman I didn’t know. Under it Marcus had written, “She lasted eleven days.” The next photograph was of Elena Vance, a woman I’d met six months earlier at an exhibition. Elena had been dead for six months.

Marcus looked at the pictures for a long time. Then he checked my face and watched my chest rise under the blanket. I kept my breathing slow. My legs felt ready to run, but I didn’t know what I’d find outside the bedroom or what he’d do if he caught me moving.

He put the papers back in the bag and left the camera where it was.

Before he went, he leaned close enough that I could smell the mint gum he chewed after brushing his teeth. I didn’t close my eyes until I heard his office door click shut. By then I had one question that mattered more than how scared I was: how could I prove what I’d seen before Marcus decided I’d lasted long enough?

In the morning, I let him find me sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing my forehead. My head really did hurt. I just needed him to think it was worse.

Marcus brought toast and a fresh cup of tea. I said I couldn’t drink it. He touched my shoulder, gentle as ever. “You’re still tired, honey. You need to eat something.”

“I feel foggy,” I said.

“That’s what you said yesterday.” He moved the cup closer. “Maybe you should call the doctor.”

I watched his hand on the saucer. The same hand that had carried the bag, steady and careful.

I told him I’d make an appointment later. He seemed to accept that, but he stayed until I took a bite of toast. Then his phone rang, and he glanced at the screen.

“I’ve got a meeting,” he said. “Try to rest.”

He tucked the blanket around my feet before he left. I’d loved that about him once. He was the one who noticed when the house got cold and put another log in the stove. That memory sat beside what I’d seen in the bag, and I hated that some part of me still wanted one of those things to cancel out the other.

I waited until I heard his car pull away. Then I stood, held the dresser for a second, and went to his office. I knew he kept a spare key in a coffee tin in the pantry. I’d seen it there for years and never asked why he needed it. That morning, I was glad I’d noticed.

The office door was locked. The key worked. I found the safe behind a cabinet, and the spare key opened that too. There were duplicate keys inside, along with documents bearing Elena’s signature. I knew her handwriting from a card she’d sent Marcus after the exhibition. The signature on the papers looked close, but the last letter in Vance didn’t curl the way hers did.

Under the papers was a notebook. I read it standing up because I couldn’t make myself sit down. There were dates, small dose changes, and notes about sleep, confusion, and how long each woman could stay upright. I found the woman from the photograph. I still don’t know her full story. I know Marcus had written that her finances were “settled” before her health gave out on day eleven.

The next page had my name.

There was a number beside it. Nine.

My hand shook so badly I had to put the notebook down. I took pictures of every page with my phone, then put everything back the way I’d found it. I wasn’t trying to be clever. I was trying not to leave him an excuse to say I’d been confused and imagined the whole thing.

I also took the black bag from where he’d hidden it in a cabinet. Inside were the small bottles and the photographs. I put one vial and the dregs from the cup I’d rinsed the night before into separate plastic bags. I’d nearly thrown the cup away. I don’t know why I’d kept it on the counter, other than that I was too tired to do the dishes.

I needed someone outside the house to tell me whether I was losing my mind. So I called a woman I knew from the garden club, and asked her to drive me to urgent care. I told her I’d been having dizzy spells and had found something in my husband’s office. I didn’t say more on the phone.

At the clinic, a nurse took the vial and the residue from the cup. I told her I needed the samples tested and that I was afraid my husband was putting something in my tea. She didn’t tell me it was all fine or that I was imagining things. She asked if I felt safe going home.

“No,” I said.

That was the first time I’d said it aloud. It came out plain and small.

The clinic ran an urgent screen and sent the samples for confirmation. The first result showed a dangerous mix of a sedative and a cardiac drug. The doctor explained that even a small amount could affect the heart, especially over repeated doses. I asked him to write down what he’d found and give me a copy.

He told me to call the police. So I did.

Detective Miller had handled Elena’s inquest. I remembered him from the exhibition, where he’d come by after she died to ask Marcus a few questions. I’d assumed Marcus was helping him with company paperwork. Now I understood why he’d known Elena’s dates and medical history so well.

Miller met me at the station. I gave him the lab report, the photos from the notebook, and the vial. When he saw the page with Elena’s name, he stopped flipping through the papers.

“This came from Marcus’s office?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And he doesn’t know you have it?”

“Not yet.”

Miller asked if I’d heard Marcus say anything about Elena’s death. I told him Marcus had called it a sudden heart complication. He’d said she’d been getting confused, but it was probably stress. At the time, I’d thought he was being kind by remembering her. I didn’t tell him I’d liked that about Marcus. It felt foolish, even then.

Miller said the lab would need to confirm the result and that the district attorney would have to review the evidence. He also told me not to go home alone. But I couldn’t just leave and hope Marcus didn’t find the files, the camera, or another woman.

I had no plan that felt safe. I only knew that if I disappeared without the evidence, Marcus could say I was sick and confused. He’d already been making a record of it.

Miller had officers watch the house while I went back. We agreed I’d act as if I were still foggy, and that officers would be nearby. I hated the idea of going inside again, but I had a better chance of keeping him from destroying proof if he thought everything was still going his way.

The next day, I found the camera footage on the memory card. It showed Marcus preparing my tea and adding drops from one of the bottles. It showed him setting the camera beside the bed and talking about my “declining mental state” as if I couldn’t hear him. I made a copy and handed it to Miller.

The schedule in the notebook was worse. Marcus had timed the doses to make a woman’s health look like a sudden natural decline. His notes described how he would use the video to support a claim that she was confused or unable to manage her affairs. The papers in the safe showed Elena’s company shares had gone to him. There were also copies of documents that gave him control of her money and medical decisions, signed in a hand that was almost, but not quite, hers.

The first woman’s money was gone before she died. Elena was next. Marcus had taken her shares after her death, and her illness had been written off as a sudden cardiac complication. Now he was preparing the same story for me.

I had been on his schedule for nine days when I found the notebook. He meant to finish on day eleven. That number was the reason for the camera, the notes, and the careful little cup he carried in each night. It wasn’t a record of me getting worse. It was supposed to become the excuse for my death.

Miller told me the safest thing was to stay out of the house while they got a warrant. I understood why. I also knew the camera footage and the lab report tied Marcus to the poison, but the hidden files could be gone by the time officers entered. I wanted the rest of the records secured. I wanted the next woman not to be someone who trusted a warm cup handed to her at bedtime.

We set up the house with officers nearby and in the adjoining room. I changed nothing that would warn Marcus. I replaced the tea with plain water and left the mug where he expected it to be. Then I sat on the bed with my hands folded and waited for the clock to reach the time he’d chosen.

I could hear it ticking from the kitchen. I’d heard that clock every morning for years. I’d never once thought it was counting anything.

At 2:17, the bedroom door opened.

Marcus came in wearing latex gloves. He had the camera in one hand and a syringe in the other. He looked at the bed, then at the mug.

I sat up and turned on the lamp.

He stopped. For a second, neither of us said anything. Then he looked at my face, like he was checking whether I knew where I was.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” he said.

“I’m done drinking your tea.”

He put the syringe down on the bedside table. I saw his eyes go to the mug again. It was only water.

The officers stepped into the room. Miller was in front. Marcus backed toward the door, but one of the officers took his arm. He didn’t fight. He looked more annoyed than afraid.

I picked up the folder with Elena’s name and handed it to Miller. Marcus watched me do it. That was the first time all night he looked like he understood I wasn’t confused.

The camera, vial, footage, lab report, and notebook were all there. The police arrested Marcus for attempted murder and possession of controlled substances. They also began a new investigation into Elena’s death. Later, the district attorney charged him in her death and the theft of her estate. I froze our shared accounts, changed every lock, got a restraining order, and started the process of annulling the marriage.

I testified at Marcus’s trial. Elena’s family finally heard what had happened to her. I kept thinking I should feel some clean kind of relief. I didn’t. I felt grateful they knew the truth, and sick that it had taken my name in his notebook to get it found.

Afterward, I went home alone. The kitchen was bright with morning sun. I made black coffee in a clean mug and stood by the counter while it filled. The wall clock ticked above me, steady as ever.

For the first time in weeks, it was only keeping time.