MY WIFE KILLED OUR THREE CHILDREN. I WAS SENT TO DIE

Chapter 8

The morning sun broke gently through the blinds, casting long, golden streaks across the kitchen floor.

Arthur was already sitting at the head of the dining table, fully dressed, quietly reading the morning paper. He looked relaxed, his posture easy, his face completely free of the tension that had filled the house for days.

In his former life, mornings like this had been entirely different. Arthur used to wake up before dawn every single day. He would scrub the kitchen, mop the floors, prepare an elaborate hot breakfast for Eleanor, and leave a loving note on her tray before rushing out the door to work twelve-hour shifts. He had slaved away just to earn a tiny smile from her.

Now, he simply sat back, turning a page of the newspaper with a crisp, slow snap.

A soft rustle came from the hallway stairs. Eleanor walked into the kitchen, wearing a silk robe.

For the first time in weeks, she wasn't scowling. Her usual cold, sharp glare was gone, replaced by a strange, eager brightness. Her eyes darted toward Arthur, testing the air in the room.

"Good morning, Arthur," Eleanor said, her voice dripping with an unusually soft, gentle sweetness.

Arthur lowered his newspaper just enough to look at her over the rim. "Good morning, Eleanor. You're up early."

"I am," she said, clasping her hands together near her chest. She took a step toward the table, her face twisting into an expression of fake remorse. "Arthur... I couldn't sleep last night. I kept thinking about how awful I’ve been acting. The screaming, the fights about money... it was just the pregnancy hormones talking. I feel terrible."

Arthur watched her intently. He didn't interrupt. He just let her sell her performance.

"I know I’ve been taking you for granted," Eleanor continued, forcing a timid, tearful smile onto her lips. "You work so hard for us, and I’ve been so ungrateful. So please... just let me make things right. Let me make you a special breakfast today. I want to make you a hot plate of pancakes and some herbal tea. Just to say I'm sorry."

In the past, those sweet words would have melted Arthur’s heart instantly. He would have jumped up, hugged her tight, and blamed himself for ever doubting her.

This morning, Arthur simply offered a calm, pleasant smile.

"Pancakes sound wonderful, Eleanor," Arthur said smoothly. "Thank you. I appreciate the thought."

Eleanor let out a sharp sigh of relief—a breath she had clearly been holding for a while. "Great! Just sit right there and relax. I’ll have it ready in no time."

She turned around quickly and walked over to the kitchen counter.

Arthur slowly lifted his newspaper back up, positioning it just below his eye level. From behind the paper, he had a clear, unobstructed view of her through the gap in the kitchen doorway.

Eleanor tied her apron around her waist with shaking hands. She pulled out the flour, beat the eggs, and set a pan on the stove. But her body was stiff as a board. Every few seconds, her head twitched slightly as she glanced toward the dining room to make sure Arthur wasn't coming into the kitchen.

Once the pancakes were cooked to a golden brown, she stacked them neatly on a ceramic plate. She reached for a small glass jug of syrup, setting it beside the plate.

Then, her movements slowed down.

Eleanor took a deep, shaky breath. Her shoulders hitched. She turned her body slightly sideways, using her torso to block the view from the doorway—unaware that Arthur could see her every move reflected in the glass frame of the microwave door.

She reached toward her designer handbag sitting on the counter corner. With trembling fingers, her hand slipped into the hidden inner pocket.

She pulled out the small amber bottle.

Arthur’s heart didn't race. His pulse remained dead steady behind his newspaper. He watched her unscrew the black cap. Her hands were shaking so violently that the bottle almost slipped from her grip.

Eleanor leaned over the stack of pancakes. She tilted the amber bottle and poured a heavy, generous stream of the golden liquid straight onto the warm food, letting it sink deep into the batter. Then, she grabbed the syrup jug and poured a thick layer over top, thoroughly disguising the oil.

She capped the bottle, shoved it back into her handbag, and leaned heavily against the counter for three seconds, her eyes closed, her chest heaving as if she had just run a marathon.

Arthur quietly folded his newspaper and set it flat on the table, resting his hands neatly beside his placemat.

A moment later, Eleanor walked out of the kitchen carrying the plate and a steaming mug of tea. Her face was pale, a thin sheen of nervous sweat glistening on her forehead, but she forced her lips into a wide, sweet smile.

"Here you go, honey," Eleanor said, her voice tight and slightly higher than usual. She set the plate down right in front of him, along with the mug. "Fresh, hot pancakes with sweet syrup. Exactly the way you like them."

Arthur looked down at the plate. The syrup glistened thickly over the warm food.

He looked back up at Eleanor. She didn't sit down across from him. She stood right beside his chair, her fingers clutched together so tightly her knuckles were turning white. Her eyes were wide, fixed on his face with an intense, terrifying hunger.

"Aren't you going to have some?" Arthur asked, his voice full of casual warmth.

"Oh, no," Eleanor stammered, taking a tiny half-step backward. "My... my stomach is feeling a bit sensitive this morning. Pregnancy nausea, you know. But please, Arthur, eat up. You need your strength after everything we've been through."

"It really smells delicious, Eleanor," Arthur said softly. He picked up his fork and knife, cutting off a large, syrup-soaked piece of the pancake.

Eleanor’s breath hitched loudly in her throat. She locked her legs, leaning forward just an inch, her eyes tracking the movement of his fork as if her entire life depended on it.

"Go on, honey," Eleanor whispered, her voice trembling with hidden anticipation. "Take a bite."

Arthur raised the fork to his mouth, paused for a split second to look her dead in the eye, and took the bite.