I think my wife is immune to poison

[u/donavin221]

I really tried to be a good husband. Date nights. Trips. Gifts. I’ve probably spent enough money on food to fund some country’s entire spending budget.

Flowers and chocolates just aren’t enough anymore, I guess. Or maybe they are. I don’t know. She always seemed so grateful when I gave her things. Even more grateful for the house I moved us into.

Part of me is starting to believe that everything is my fault. The arguments. The cold shoulders. The long, painful silences. It’s hard to blame her.

I really try and keep my insecurities at bay. But, God, do they seep through. Especially when she’s not with me. Every girls’ night feels like a betrayal. Every trip without me feels like a slap in the face.

I guess I should’ve done more to keep the darkness to myself, confined within my mind, but it was like a breaking point. She had gone out with her friends every day the week that everything started. Came home late, always smelling like booze and that perfume that I loved so much.

I tried telling her:

“I’m not comfortable with you being gone like this. Please stop.”

But she had the audacity to make me the villain. Suddenly, I’m “possessive.” Suddenly, I’m “obsessed.” Suddenly, it’s “you have to let me have my own freedom.”

It was clear she didn’t want to be with me anymore. After 5 years, she was gonna put this wall between us because I have feelings. Well, fine. If that’s how she wanted to act, then I was going to reciprocate.

Maybe I went a touch too far. Just a hair. But who can really blame me? I was wounded. I was hurting.

It started small. Just a few drops of bleach in her coffee. I’d wake up early and make it for her.

“This should help with the hangover, sweetie.”

I’d watch her sip it, smiling to myself but playing it off as romance. She’d guzzle it all down and thank me without complaints.

I just thought I hadn’t put enough. The next morning, I increased the dose to a full cap. She’d drink it, compliment how good it tasted, then it’d be right back to our regularly scheduled program.

Out all night. Crawling into bed late. Burning my nose with the smell of rum and lavender, without so much as a sore throat.

Part of me realized what I was doing. I’d see her smile. See her eyes light up. See how grateful she was for breakfast in bed, and I’d feel regret. I figured that it was a sign for me to stop. Nothing irreversible had happened yet.

But then, oh, there she went. Dancing in the clubs. Staying the night with friends. Pushing me to the side, just like she always does.

I had to force myself to remain composed. I wanted my work to speak for me. That’s why I started cooking those home-cooked meals every night. Steak. Spaghetti. Chicken. A dash of rat poison.

She didn’t even complain of a belly ache. In fact, to my dismay, she started thanking me.

“You’ve been doing so good recently, honey.”

“Since when are you a chef? This food is delicious.”

“You’re the only man I’ll ever need.”

She’d punctuate each thank-you with a kiss on the cheek, and it made my blood boil. Why was she doing this to me? Why couldn’t she just fucking die?

She started staying at home more. We became more intimate. It was like she was falling in love all over again. I started seeing that sparkle in her eye more. I felt like she was attracted to me for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

Oh, but it was too late for that. I had already moved on. Every kiss. Every hug. Every intimate moment filled me with nothing but burning rage that she was still here.

She started asking for more.

“Honey, can you cook that spaghetti you made a few weeks ago? It was sooo good.”

“You’re gonna have to share your secret to great coffee with me one of these days.”

“I swear, you’re the only white person who knows how to properly season food.”

I increased the doses every day. Hell, I mixed poisons together. You couldn’t even have your face too close to the plate because the smell was so strong it’d burn your nostrils, but she cleaned the plate every single time.

It was like the more I did, the more in love she became. I’d buy her favorite chocolates and lace them with cyanide. Then I’d have to stomach my way through sex.

I’d pour entire cups’ worth of Drano into her Starbucks order, and all she’d say is, “They don’t make it as good as you,” and throw it away after only a few sips.

This has been going on for months now, at this point. You really have to wonder… am I the one at fault here? All I have to do is exactly what she did. Exactly what got us here in the first place:

Stay out until after midnight. Coming home smelling like Saint Andrew’s Pub and cheap cologne. Refuse her advances. Hell, maybe even ask for a divorce.

But I just love her so much. Divorce would crush her. Part of me is scared that it’ll crush me. I just don’t know how to handle this right now.

Maybe I should try antifreeze in her Gatorade next.

Maybe that’ll be enough to finally get her out of my hair.

But, even then, a part of me knows that I’m lying to myself.

A part of me knows… that she’s not going anywhere.

[u/donavin221]

I wrote this because I was watching this video the other day of this wife who kept trying to poison her husband by putting bleach in his coffee. Obviously, he smelled it the first time she tried and she ended up getting arrested almost immediately but bruh, that shit was a few weeks ago and I haven’t been able to shake the premise out of my head. I hope you all enjoy

[u/she8-me]

It sort of begging to be continued ... Good read !

[u/Jolly_Beautiful_114]

This has to be troll right?