The Night I Couldn’t Sleep
One evening, Ethan said he’d stay up late to make some “herbal dessert” for his yoga friends.
“Go to sleep first, baby,” he said, kissing my forehead.
I nodded, turned off the light, and pretended to drift off.
But something deep inside me — a quiet, insistent voice — refused to sleep.
I got up silently and walked down the hall. From the doorway, I watched Ethan in the kitchen.
He stood by the counter, humming softly. I saw him pour warm water into my usual glass, open a drawer, and pull out a small amber bottle.
He tilted it — one, two, three drops of a clear liquid — into the water. Then he added honey, chamomile, and stirred.
My whole body went cold.
When he finished, he picked up the glass and came upstairs — to me.
I slipped back into bed and pretended to be half-asleep.
He smiled as he handed it to me.
“Here you go, baby girl.”
I yawned and said softly,
“I’ll finish it later.”
That night, when he fell asleep, I poured the water into a thermos, sealed it, and hid it in my closet.
