She said she should have known. That Ezra had grown distant strange. She’d found strange notations in his journal’s jars of dried plants she didn’t recognize.
She thought he was just coping with what she didn’t know. Turns out, Ezra had been writing under a false name on obscure herbalist forums for years. Descriptions of extractions, dosages, interactions.
Academic in tone. Chilling in hindsight. Some of the terminology matched exactly what was found in Ruth’s bloodwork.
It all came back to one decision. One cookie I hadn’t eaten. I took the container out of the fridge on a quiet Tuesday morning.
The cookie was still intact, though the frosting had dulled. Detective Reyes had given me a sealed evidence bag the day Ezra was arrested in case I wanted to hold onto it. Not for revenge, he’d said, but for clarity.
I slid the cookie into the bag and pressed the seal shut. It felt heavier than it should have. That night I cleared out a small fireproof box from the hall closet and placed the cookie inside.
Alongside it, I added the card from the package. Happy Birthday, Mom. Let’s start over.
I locked the box and placed it on the highest shelf. Not to forget. To remember what I almost missed.
I stood in the kitchen a long time after that. The house quiet around me, the air still. Then I turned off the light and walked down the hall, unsure whether to feel safe again, or if I ever really had been.