The day it happened began like any other in those restless weeks. Mary was still weak, though she insisted on sitting at the table for breakfast. Daniel made her tea, added just the right amount of honey, and slid the cup toward her with a smile.
Her family was visiting again - two sisters and her cousin this time. They had arrived early, claiming they wanted to "help out," but Daniel noticed how they hovered near Mary and avoided his eyes.
By mid-morning, the house felt crowded. The children had gone to school, but the air seemed thick with something unspoken. Daniel tried to busy himself with chores, sweeping the veranda, fixing a loose hinge, anything to keep his hands moving.
Around noon, Ruth called everyone to the living room. Mary sat in the armchair, wrapped in her shawl, while her sisters stood on either side of her. Daniel, still holding the screwdriver from the hinge, stepped in reluctantly.
"We need to talk," Ruth began.
Daniel set the screwdriver down. "Alright. About what?"
Her cousin exchanged a glance with Ruth, then spoke. "About Mary's illness. About you."
Daniel's chest tightened. "What about me?"
Ruth's voice hardened. "We've been talking, and… things don't add up. She was fine before. Then suddenly - "
"That's not unusual for sickness," Daniel interrupted. "You know that."
Her cousin shook her head. "This isn't just sickness. We think…" She hesitated for a moment, then said it: "We think you've done something to her. Spiritually. For your own gain."
For a heartbeat, the room was silent except for the hum of the ceiling fan.
Daniel stared at them, certain he had misheard. "You think I - what?"
"You know what we're saying," Ruth pressed. "These things happen. Men using their wives for rituals. For business. For wealth."
Mary's head turned sharply. "Ruth - "
"No," Daniel said, his voice rising. "That's a filthy lie."
"Then explain why she's still sick," Ruth shot back. "Why she gets worse whenever she's alone with you, and better when she's with us."
Daniel clenched his fists. "Because you're filling her head with poison. That's why."
Mary's voice trembled. "Daniel, please - "
But Ruth stepped forward. "We can't leave her here. Not with you."
And just like that, the decision was made without him. Her sisters lifted her gently from the chair, as if she were fragile glass, while her cousin gathered her bag. Daniel moved to block the doorway, but Mary looked at him - not with anger, but with something worse. Doubt.
It stopped him cold.
He stood there, rooted to the floor, as they walked her out of the house and into Ruth's waiting car. The slam of the door echoed through him like a gunshot.
By the time the sound faded, the house felt emptier than it had ever been.