I looked at my oldest friend.
"I need someone to believe me," I said.
Marisol grabbed me and held on so hard my ribs hurt.
"I believe you," she said. "I've always believed you. I just wish you'd told me."
For the next two weeks, I performed the role of a woman disappearing.
Every night at 8:30, Lorraine handed me my mug. Every night, I said thank you. I took it into the living room, poured it into the fern or into a thermos I kept hidden behind the couch, and rinsed the mug.
Ray collected one thermos sample and delivered it, sealed and dated, to a private toxicology lab.
Every morning, I moved slowly. I stared at the wall. I stumbled over words and let sentences trail off. I practiced forgetting things. I asked Derek what day it was. I asked Lorraine twice whether we had any milk.
It was the hardest acting of my life. Because the more they believed it, the more relaxed they became, and the more they relaxed, the more they revealed.
Twice, Lorraine forgot her cane and walked through the living room while I was pretending to doze on the couch. She caught herself, went pale, and hobbled back to fetch it.
I never opened my eyes.
Once, on the fifth of November, Derek sat down beside me and took both my hands.
"After the fourteenth," he said softly, "it's all going to get easier. I promise. You're going to get the help you need."
"What's on the fourteenth?" I asked, in my best foggy voice.
"My birthday, silly." He laughed and kissed my hand. "I'm turning forty. Mom's throwing a big dinner. The whole family's coming."
I looked into my husband's eyes and saw nothing in them. Not cruelty. Not guilt. Just a smooth, tidy, hopeful surface, like a man who had already spent the money.
"I can't wait," I said.
The thumbprint was the night of November 8th.
I was lying on my side in bed, breathing slow and deep, pretending to sleep. Derek had been in the bathroom a long time. When he came out, he stood beside the bed and looked down at me. I could feel it.
Then he sat on the edge of the mattress.
The mattress dipped. My phone was on the nightstand where I always left it. I heard the tiny click of him picking it up.
I kept my eyes shut.