Chapter 1 - The Prescription for MurderThe hospital stamp stared back at me, sharp and clinical.
ST. JUDE MEMORIAL HOSPITAL — EMERGENCY INTAKE PATIENT: Clara Whitaker-Davis TIME: 10:14 AM
My hand trembled as I smoothed out the folded paper. Below the intake stamp, written in Marlene’s neat, cursive schoolteacher handwriting, were details that made my lungs seize:
“Morphine drip increased to 4mg/hr. Request override code from Dr. Vance. Ensure family is kept in the dark until vitals drop below baseline. Do not let Ethan into room 304 under any circumstances.”
I looked up from the paper. Marlene was standing by the bedroom door, her fingers tightly interwoven, her expression shifting from panic to a cold, predatory composure.
"You shouldn't have looked at that, Ethan," she said, her voice dropping an octave, losing all the trembling warmth she usually reserved for holiday dinners. "Clara is my daughter. I know what is best for her. You’ve always been too weak to make the hard choices."
"What did you do to my wife?" I breathed, the words tearing out of my throat. I stepped toward her, crushing the paper in my fist. "She went in for a routine post-op checkup for her knee. Why is she on a morphine drip? Why is she in the ICU?"
Before Marlene could answer, Lily shrieked from the corner.
"Dad! Look out!"
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I spun around just as Marlene lunged past me with terrifying speed, snatching a heavy glass paperweight off the desk. But she didn't come at me—she threw it straight through the bedroom window, shattering the glass into a thousand glittering shards, and screamed at the top of her lungs:
"Help! Help! My son-in-law has gone insane! He’s attacking us!"
