My husband forced me to bake a pie every day, Then he would change something and make me eat it. One day, I handed the slice back and told him to take a bite… He refused, and I froze in fear

I remembered that Victor’s first wife had died several months before we met. He almost never spoke about her. He had only

told me that she had been ill for a long time. But what if her illness hadn’t been natural?

The thought terrified me. The more I tried to push it away, the more suspicious everything seemed. Victor’s secretive

personality. His first wife’s death.

The way he sent me out of the kitchen. The changing taste of my food. And most importantly, the fact that he never touched

the pie himself.