Morning started the same way it always does. Outside the curtains it was still dark, but the muffled hum of the town waking up was already drifting in. I opened my eyes, stretched, and glanced over at the bloke sleeping next to meSimon. He was on his back, one arm hanging off the side of the bed, his face relaxed like a childs. In those moments I tried not to think about the recent rows, his odd distance, the way hes been coming home late from the office, always saying Its fine, just swamped. I wanted to believe him. I wanted everything to be alright.
Morning, I whispered, brushing his shoulder.
He jolted, blinked awake.
Already? he muttered, yawning. Youre up early.
I fancy a coffee, I said with a grin. And maybe we can have breakfast together?
Sure thing, he replied, sitting up. Ill brew it myself.
I smiled. It was a rare flicker of care from him. Lately hed barely been helping around the house, and Id started to think he was just exhausted. But today he seemed different. Too attentive. Too eager.
I slipped into the shower, and when I came out the kitchen was already scented with fresh coffee. Simon was at the table, pouring the dark liquid into mugs. He filled my favourite blueflowered porcelain cup, and left the other mug the one with a chipped handle that my motherinlaw always used empty.
I made it just the way you like, he said, handing me the cup. A splash of milk and a pinch of cinnamon.
Thanks, I smiled, but then my nose caught a strange smell. Not coffee. Something sharp, chemical, with a bitteralmond hint.
I frowned.
Whats that smell? From the coffee?
Simon glanced at his mug.
No idea. Maybe a new grind? Or the milks gone off?
I sniffed again. Bitter almond. I remembered my grandmothers warning: a bitteralmond scent means potassium cyanide. Id read about it later in school cyanide smells like bitter almonds and its deadly.
My heart hammered.
Simon, are you sure you didnt mix something up? I asked as calmly as I could. Im allergic to a few additives. Maybe I should use the other mug?
He froze for a beat, then smiled.
Dont worry, its just coffee. Drink it while its hot.
I nodded, but just then footsteps echoed down the hallway. My motherinlaw, Margaret, emerged from her bedroom. Shes a stern woman with a cold stare and a knack for noticing everything. Weve never gotten along; she always says Im not good enough for her son, too plain, people like me dont belong in this family.
Good morning, she said dryly, walking to the table.
Morning, Mum, Simon kissed her cheek. Ive made the coffee. Heres your mug.
He handed her the empty, chipped mug.
Wheres my coffee? she asked, frowning.
Ill pour it now, Simon replied, reaching for the kettle.
At that moment she did something that saved my life. She snatched my mug, coffee already in it, and said,
You wait.
She looked at me with pure contempt.
Simon went still. His eyes widened for a split second. He glanced at me, and I saw something terrible in his gazenot fear or irritation, but disappointment.
What are you doing? Margaret snapped, taking a sip from my mug. Pour the coffee, not stand there like a fool.
Simon slowly poured coffee into the empty mug.
I sat down, heart racing. I couldnt take my eyes off that cup, the same one that still smelled of bitter almond.
Its a bit strong, she muttered. But Ill drink it.
I watched Simon. He sat with his eyes down, poking at his scrambled eggs with a fork. No words, no look, no smile.
After ten minutes Margaret suddenly grimaced.
Somethings wrong with my stomach she murmured. My heads spinning.
Are you feeling unwell? I asked, trying not to sound panicked.
Yes, a little it feels like Im suffocating, she said, setting the cup down. She tried to stand but swayed. Simon lunged forward.
Mum! Whats happening?
She stared at him, eyes wide. You you wanted me
And then she collapsed.
I screamed. Simon rushed to her, shouting for an ambulance, shaking her shoulders. I stood there, halfin a daze, everything happening too fast. One thing was crystal clear: hed tried to kill me, and she paid the price instead.
The ambulance arrived about twenty minutes later. Doctors burst in, examined Margaret, and one of them lifted the cup to his nose.
Cyanide poisoning, he announced. Very high concentration. Shes in a coma. Odds are slim.
Simon looked pale, trembling.
I dont know how this happened I just made the coffee
Where do you keep the coffee? the doctor asked.
In the pantry its a new bag I bought yesterday
Show us.
We went to the kitchen. The doctor opened the tin, sniffed.
Theres no cyanide in the beans. Someone must have slipped it into the mug or the water.
Police arrived half an hour later. The interrogation began.
Youre the last person who touched that mug, the detective said, fixing his gaze on Simon. You poured the coffee.
I didnt do anything wrong! Simon shouted. I love my mother!
And your wife? the detective turned to me.
I stayed silent.
Later, when the police carted Simon away for questioning, I was left alone in the house. The same mug sat on the kitchen counter. I walked over, picked it up, and saw a thin, white film on the bottom. I didnt wash it. I slipped the mug into a bag and hid it in the pantry.
Three days later Margaret passed away. Doctors said the cyanide killed brain cells within minutes.
At the funeral Simon was a gaunt shadow, eyes swollen. He clung to himself like the guilt was his own. But I saw something else in his eyes relief.
After the service he came to me.
Listen, he said, I know what you think. I didnt kill Mum. I wanted He stopped, then whispered, I wanted to kill you.
I wasnt surprised. I just nodded.
Why?
Because you knew everything, he said. You knew about the money, the insurance, my debts. You knew Id been gambling and lost everything. If you left, youd take half the flat. If you died, Id get the £15,000 life insurance. That would be enough to start over.
What about Mum?
She started suspecting. Read my messages. Threatened to tell you. I wanted to get rid of you I didnt count on Mum drinking the coffee.
I looked at the man Id spent five years with, loved, built dreams with.
You would have killed me, I said.
Yes, he replied. I would have. But I didnt want Mum
Go, I said. Leave my house and never come back.
He walked out. I slammed the door, called my solicitor, filed for divorce, handed the mug to the police. The forensic report confirmed cyanide traces, and the only fingerprints were Simons.
A month later he was arrested. The trial lasted three weeks. He didnt deny wanting to kill me, but claimed he hadnt intended Mums death. The court took that as a mitigating factor. He was sentenced to fifteen years strict regime.
I moved to a new town, rented a cosy flat by a lake, bought a proper coffee machine, and now I brew my own coffee plain, no cinnamon, no milk. Every time before I drink, I take a careful sniff.
Because that bitteralmond smell isnt just a scent. Its a warning, a gutvoice saying, Watch out. Danger ahead.
Im not scared. Im just careful.
Sometimes at night I dream of Margaret standing in the doorway, cup in hand, looking at menot with hatred but with pity whispering, You shouldve left earlier.
I wake in a cold sweat, go to the kitchen, pour a glass of water, drink it, stare out the window at the darkness and the silence.
I know there are people out there, smiling across the table, saying I love you, while thinking, If she just vanished.
I keep living, breathing, looking forward.
But Ill never forget that morning when the scent of bitter almond saved my life.
**Epilogue**
Two years later I opened a little café by the lake called The Almond. A sign on the door reads, Coffee with soul. No bitterness.
Customers ask why the name.
I smile.
Its just a fondness for almonds, I tell them, and pour a fresh cup of coffee.
No bitter smell. No fear. Just hope.
And if anyone ever offers me coffee they didnt brew themselves, I always refuse.
Because once I chose that mug, and it saved me.
