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.
It even seemed romantic at the time.
A few minutes later, he called me back. A single slice of pie was waiting on the table. Victor sat across from me and watched
until I had eaten every bite.
The same thing happened the next day. And the day after that. I baked the entire pie, but as soon as it came out of the oven,
