THE POISON WAS PATIENT

CHAPTER 4

According to the police, I was the woman with the strongest opportunity to poison my husband.

The thought settled inside me like ice.

Inspector Raman never once said, "I think you killed him." He didn't have to.

It was there—in the pauses between his questions, in the careful way he wrote down every answer, and most of all, in the steady gaze that never left my face for long enough to let me breathe.

My heart stumbled against my ribs.

For the first time since Raghav's death, grief stepped aside and made room for something colder.

Fear.

The inspector closed his notebook and looked at me for a long moment. The silence stretched so thin that I could hear the ticking wall clock in the living room.

"Mrs. Malhotra," he said quietly, "I've just one last question."

I nodded, though my throat had gone dry.

He held my eyes.

"Who is Lusia?"

The name hit me with unexpected force.

I looked away before I could stop myself.

Raman noticed.

"You know her," he said, not as a question but as an observation.

I swallowed hard.

"She... she was someone my husband knew."

"Someone he knew," Raman repeated calmly. "Or someone he was involved with?"

I didn't answer immediately.

The truth had lived inside me for months, buried beneath forced smiles and silent dinners. Speaking it aloud felt like admitting my marriage had died long before my husband did.

"She was the woman he was having an affair with," I whispered.

Inspector Raman didn't react.

He simply uncapped his pen again.

"How long had the affair been going on?"

"I don't know exactly. Almost a year... maybe more."

"Did you ever meet her?"

"Only once."

"Did she know you were Raghav's wife?"

"Yes."

"And did you confront either of them?"

"I confronted Raghav."

"What happened?"

Anhita let out a slow, exhausted breath.

"He promised it was over."

She laughed once—a hollow, humourless sound.

"It wasn't."

Raman watched her carefully.

"Do you know where Lusia lives?"

The room suddenly felt smaller.

For a few seconds, I said nothing.

I remembered the apartment building, the narrow lane, the cream-coloured balcony filled with potted plants. I remembered standing across the road one rainy evening, watching Raghav walk through a gate he had once told me led only to a client's office.

Some memories refuse to fade, no matter how desperately you try to forget them.

"Yes," I answered at last.

"I know where she lives."

Inspector Raman slowly closed his notebook.

"I'll need the address."

I walked to the drawer beside the dining table and took out a small notepad. My fingers trembled as I wrote it down.

He read the address, folded the paper carefully, and slipped it into his pocket.

Before leaving, he stood at the doorway and turned back.

"Mrs. Malhotra, I know today has been difficult. But until we know who administered the poison and how it entered your husband's body, everyone close to him remains a part of this investigation."

His words lingered in the air long after the front door closed.

I stood alone in the silent house, staring at the empty cup of coffee on the table.

Yesterday, I had become a widow.

Today, I had become a suspect.

And somewhere across the city lived the woman who had shared my husband's love... and perhaps knew far more about his death than either of us had ever imagined.