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You see, my husband was the kind of man people trusted instinctively: kind eyes, quiet voice, impeccable manners. In public, he was devoted. At home, he was meticulous \u2014 too meticulous.<\/p>\n
He managed our finances, our social calendar, even my health. Whenever I felt tired or confused, he would bring me that same steaming cup. \u201cJust herbs,\u201d he\u2019d say. \u201cGood for your nerves.\u201d<\/p>\n
And slowly, imperceptibly, my world began to shrink.
\nI forgot appointments. I misplaced names. My reflection grew unfamiliar. He started finishing my sentences, making decisions on my behalf. He told friends I was \u201cslowing down.\u201d<\/p>\n
It was subtle \u2014 a gentle erasure, one sip at a time.<\/p>\n
One winter night, he was late bringing my tea. I remember glancing at the clock: 10:47 p.m. For the first time in years, I poured myself a glass of water instead.<\/p>\n