Three Years of Care, Three Years of Poison

For three years, my husband, a renowned nutritionist, doted on me. He even pre-sorted my daily vitamins.

But my best friend, Chloe, noticed my pallor, saying I looked like someone on long-term medication, and urged me to get checked.

I took the vitamins he gave me for testing. The lab report starkly read: "Spironolactone."

It turned out, the man who constantly told me, "Your health is paramount, darling," had been feeding me sterilizing drugs with his own hands all along.

"Scarlett, are you feeling unwell lately?" My best friend, Chloe, sat across from me, suddenly putting down her coffee cup and looking at me intently.

I paused, then smiled and shook my head. "No, I'm perfectly fine. Julian keeps a close eye on me; how could I be unwell?"

Julian was my husband, a highly respected young nutritionist.

Our marriage was the envy of all our friends. He was incredibly attentive, especially when it came to my health.

Every morning, he would meticulously portion out my daily supplements into small boxes, hand them to me himself, along with a cup of honey water at just the right temperature.

"Darling, your health is the most important thing. Make sure you take these on time," he'd always say, his eyes full of concern.

He'd adjust my meal plans based on my work intensity and seasonal changes, precisely calculating the calories and nutrients for each meal.

Under his "meticulous care," I hardly ever got sick, not even a cold.

So, I couldn't understand why Chloe was asking.

Chloe frowned, leaning closer, scrutinizing my face. "No, something's off. Look at your complexion. It's sallow, completely dull, and you have dark circles under your eyes. This isn't what a healthy person looks like. Honestly, you look like you've been chronically ill or on heavy medication."

I instinctively touched my face.

Lately, when I looked in the mirror, I did feel my skin wasn't at its best, but I just attributed it to being tired from work and not getting enough rest.

Her words made a seed of doubt begin to sprout in my mind.

"Long-term medication? I haven't taken anything other than the vitamins and various supplements Julian prepares for me," I explained.

"Then that's the problem," Chloe's expression grew more serious. "Scarlett, don't think I'm meddling. Julian might be a nutritionist, but are you really sure what's in those things he gives you? Have you ever checked the ingredients yourself?"

I was speechless.

I had never doubted Julian.

He was my husband, the person I trusted most. He said it was good for my body, and I believed him.

Every morning, he would hand me those colorful pills, and I wouldn't even glance at them, just swallow them with water.

It had been like that every single day for three years.

"You trust him too much," Chloe sighed. "I'm not trying to cause trouble between you two. But it's your body; you need to be more careful. Listen to me, find some time to get a full physical check-up. Don't tell Julian anything, just go secretly."

Chloe's words were a stone dropping into the still waters of my mind, creating ripples of doubt.

I started to reflect on the past few years.

Julian was indeed good to me, impeccably so.

He took care of all the housework, and my every need -- from clothes to food to daily activities -- was perfectly arranged.

He remembered all my preferences, my menstrual cycle, and even my occasional mood swings.

He pampered me like a princess who didn't have to worry about anything.

But was my body really getting better and better, as he claimed?

I remembered how I'd recently been feeling cold in my hands and feet, and sleeping restlessly at night, often dreaming.

I'd thought it was due to work stress.

Now that I thought about it, these symptoms seemed to have been going on for a long time.

"Chloe, it shouldn't... it couldn't be, right?" I sounded uncertain, a tremor in my voice I hadn't even noticed.

"Better safe than sorry," Chloe squeezed my hand. "Listen to me, get it checked out. If it's nothing, that's best, and we'll all be relieved. But if there is something, we can find it early."

I looked into her worried eyes and nodded.

After leaving Chloe, I walked aimlessly down the street alone.

Her words echoed repeatedly in my mind: "You look like you've been chronically ill or on heavy medication."

I walked into a nearby drugstore. Inside, there was a large mirror.

I went to the mirror and carefully examined myself.

The woman in the reflection had a sallow complexion, pale lips, and eyes that couldn't hide the fatigue and dark circles.

Was this really me? Scarlett, who was cherished by her husband and lived a happy life?

I took out my phone and scrolled through old photos.

A year ago, even two years ago, the me in the pictures had rosy cheeks and a vibrant spirit.

When did I become like this?

My heart sank a little more.

When I got home, Julian had already made dinner.

A perfectly balanced meal with several dishes, all my favorites, blending nutrition and taste.

"Darling, you're back! Go wash your hands and eat," he said, wearing an apron, bringing out the last bowl of soup from the kitchen, his smile gentle.

I looked at him, a flood of conflicting emotions swirling inside me.

Did I really have to suspect him? The person who was supposedly the best to me in the whole world?

Perhaps Chloe was just being overly sensitive.

"What's wrong? Why are you standing there?" Julian walked over to me, reaching out to check my forehead. "Are you not feeling well?"

"No, just a little tired," I forced a smile, subtly avoiding his touch.

During dinner, I was preoccupied.

Julian, as usual, served me food, reminding me to eat more.

"Eat more of this broccoli, it's good for vitamins. And this fish, it's great for your skin."

I looked at the food in my bowl and suddenly felt a wave of nausea.

That night, before bed, Julian came in with water and the pill organizer again.

"Darling, it's time for your last supplements of the day."

He skillfully opened the box, poured out a few capsules and tablets, and held them out to me.

I stared at the pills in his palm, just like I had for over a thousand days and nights. Only this time, I didn't take them immediately.

"What are these?" I asked.

"The usual, darling. Vitamin C, grape seed extract, and melatonin to help you sleep," Julian's tone was natural, betraying no hint of anything unusual.

I stared at the pills, a voice screamed in my head: Don't take them!

I took the pills, pretending to drink water, and when he wasn't looking, I hid them under my tongue. Then I took a big gulp of water and tilted my head back, mimicking a swallow.

"There, now get some rest," he smiled contentedly, leaning down to kiss my forehead.

Once he was sound asleep, I quietly got up and went to the bathroom, spitting the pills onto a tissue from under my tongue.

There were three in total: one white, one yellow, and one clear capsule.

I carefully wrapped them up and tucked them into a hidden pocket in my makeup bag.

After doing all this, I lay back in bed, looking at my sleeping husband, spending a sleepless night.

Once the seed of doubt is planted, it grows wildly.

The next day, I called in sick to work.

Julian left early; he had an important academic conference to attend.

As soon as he left, I immediately hailed a cab to the biggest, most reputable hospital in the city.

I registered for appointments in both gynecology and endocrinology.

Sitting in the waiting area, my palms were sweating.

I was scared -- scared of a bad diagnosis, and also scared of finding nothing, which would make me seem overly suspicious and foolish.

"Scarlett."

When my name was called, I took a deep breath and walked in.

The doctor was a kind-looking female specialist in her fifties.

She asked about my general condition, and I answered each question.

"Doctor, I've mainly been feeling extremely tired lately, my complexion is terrible, and my hands and feet are always cold," I tried to keep my voice calm.

The doctor nodded and ordered a series of tests for me.

"First, let's do a full hormone panel and thyroid function tests, and also a comprehensive pelvic ultrasound."

Blood tests, urine tests, ultrasound.

I spent the entire morning moving between various departments at the hospital.

The wait for results was agonizingly long.

I sat on a hospital bench, watching people come and go, feeling completely lost.

If Julian really had a problem, what would I do? Were our three years of marriage nothing but a deception?

In the afternoon, the test results gradually came in.

I walked back into the specialist's office, clutching a stack of reports.

The doctor flipped through them, one by one, her brow furrowing deeper and deeper.

My heart was in my throat.

"Doctor, how is it?" I asked softly.

She looked up, her expression serious. "Your endocrine system is severely out of balance. Estrogen levels are abnormally low, and follicle-stimulating hormone is unusually high. These indicators are not typical for someone your age."

"What... what does that mean?" I was utterly confused.

"Simply put, your ovarian function is declining, and it's declining very rapidly."

The doctor's words were like a heavy hammer, striking my heart.

"How can this be? I'm only 28."

"There are many reasons for this condition, such as autoimmune diseases or genetic factors. But judging from your reports, I lean more towards one possibility."

The doctor paused, looking into my eyes, and asked, word for word, "Have you been taking any medication long-term recently?"

The exact same question as Chloe.

My blood ran cold.

"I... I only take the vitamins my husband gives me," my voice trembled.

"What does your husband do?"

"He's a renowned nutritionist."

The doctor's gaze became somewhat complex. She pushed up her glasses. "Prescribed by a nutritionist? What exactly has he been giving you?"

"Just some vitamins, grape seed, fish oil, things like that," I said, taking out the pills I'd hidden last night from my bag. "Doctor, could you please tell me what these are?"

The doctor took the pills I had wrapped in tissue paper and held them under the light, examining them carefully.

She was very thorough, even using tweezers to pick up one of the white tablets and hold it against the light.

"Just by appearance, I can't be sure what these are. This clear capsule contains powder, the yellow one looks like ordinary Vitamin B, but this white tablet has no markings. It doesn't look like a legitimate health supplement from a reputable manufacturer."

She handed the pills back to me, her tone becoming even graver. "I recommend you take these to a professional drug testing facility to analyze their components."

"Doctor, if... if I've been taking drugs that cause ovarian decline long-term, what would be the consequences?" I asked, clinging to a last shred of hope.

"Consequences?" The doctor looked at me, her eyes filled with sympathy. "The most direct consequences would be irregular periods, premature menopause, and ultimately... infertility."

Infertility.

Those two words exploded in my mind like a thunderclap.

I understood everything in that instant.

Julian and I had been married for three years and hadn't had children.

I thought it was because we were busy with work and under a lot of stress. Julian always comforted me, saying we should let nature take its course, and that he didn't care about having children as long as I was healthy.

Turns out, it wasn't that we couldn't have children.

It was him. He had been preventing me from having children all along.

I don't know how I walked out of the hospital.

The sunlight outside was blinding, but I felt utterly cold.

I hailed a cab home and locked myself in my room.

I replayed every little detail of the past three years.

His meticulous care, his gentle and thoughtful words -- they all became the most malicious mockery now.

He was "regulating" my body. Yes, regulating it into a barren wreck.

Why? Why would he do this to me?

I covered my face, finally breaking down and sobbing uncontrollably.

This seemingly perfect marriage had been a meticulously planned conspiracy from the very beginning.

And I was the most foolish prey, willingly walking into the cage he had woven for me.

After crying for a long time, I wiped away my tears.

Now was not the time for weakness.

I had to find out why he did this.

I also needed the most direct evidence.

The doctor was right; I needed to get those "vitamins" tested.

I opened the elegant pill organizer Julian had prepared for me.

It was divided into seven small compartments, labeled Monday to Sunday.

Each compartment was filled with colorful pills.

I counted them; he made me take nearly ten pills every morning, noon, and night.

For three whole years, how much of this unknown medication had I actually consumed?

A wave of nausea and fear washed over me.

I took a few pills from each compartment, especially the white tablets with no markings.

I sorted them into sealed bags, labeling each one.

After doing all this, I started planning my next step.

Going directly to a testing facility with these things was too risky. If Julian found out, he would become alarmed.

I needed a foolproof excuse to leave home for a few days.

The next day, I told Julian that my company was sending me to a neighboring city for a three-day training session.

"So sudden?" He seemed surprised.

"Yes, it was a last-minute notification for a very important project," I said, looking down, afraid to meet his eyes.

"Three days? Remember to take your supplements on time; I'll pack them for you to take," he said, getting up to retrieve my suitcase.

Watching his busy back, my heart was filled with nothing but cold hatred.

He was still acting. Still playing the role of the loving husband who adored me.

"Okay," I replied calmly.

He neatly folded my clothes and placed the pre-portioned pill organizer in the most conspicuous spot in my suitcase.

"Darling, take care of yourself while you're away. Make sure you eat three meals a day on time, okay?" He hugged me, whispering the reminder into my ear.

I remained stiff in his embrace, but inside, I scoffed.

Take care of myself? I listened to you too much, and now look at the mess I am.

I didn't go to the neighboring city.

I hauled my suitcase and checked into a hotel in the city.

The first thing I did after checking in was to search online for professional drug testing facilities.

I found one that seemed the most authoritative and discreet and called them.

The staff on the phone was very professional. He told me that personal submissions required samples and detailed requests, the fees were not low, and it would take time.

"I need it expedited, cost is not an issue," I said.

"For expedited service, the fastest we can provide preliminary results is 48 hours."

"That works."

After hanging up, I immediately hailed a cab to the testing facility.

It was a secluded campus with very strict security.

I handed over the prepared samples to the staff and filled out the request form in detail.

I asked them to perform a comprehensive analysis of the components of each pill, especially the white tablet.

After paying the hefty expedited fee, I walked out of the testing facility, feeling a little calmer.

Now, I just had to wait. Wait for the results that would pronounce the death sentence on my marriage.

The two days in the hotel crawled by like years.

I didn't dare turn on my phone, afraid of receiving Julian's calls. I didn't know what tone or expression to use to face him.

I replayed the doctor's words over and over: ovarian function decline, ultimately leading to infertility.

I asked myself, over and over, why.

Our families were well-matched, our jobs respectable, so it wasn't possible he was after my money.

Our relationship had always seemed good, at least on the surface.

He had no reason to hate me enough to destroy me this way.

I couldn't figure it out.

There had to be a more terrifying secret behind all this that I didn't know.

On the morning of the third day, I received a call from the testing facility.

"Is this Ms. Scarlett? Your sample test has preliminary results. You can pick up the report, or we can send you an electronic copy."

"Please email it to me," my voice was hoarse.

After hanging up, I opened my laptop, my hands trembling so much I could barely hold the mouse.

The email arrived quickly.

I clicked on the PDF file. The screen was filled with dense chemical names I couldn't understand.

I scrolled directly to the bottom, to the conclusion section.

"...Among the submitted samples, the main component of the white tablet labeled A1 is Spironolactone..."

Spironolactone. What was that?

I immediately searched for the term online.

The moment the search results appeared, my breathing stopped.

Spironolactone, also known as Aldactone, is a synthetic steroid. Clinically used as a diuretic, but it has a very strong side effect---anti-androgenic action.

Additionally, in some illegal uses, it's used as a component in long-acting contraceptives. Long-term use can severely interfere with the female endocrine system, inhibit ovulation, and even cause irreversible endometrial damage.

To put it more bluntly, it was a sterilizing drug.

My husband, the man who told me every day, "Darling, your health is paramount," had been feeding me sterilizing drugs with his own hands.

My world, in that moment, completely collapsed.

I looked at the words on the computer screen and laughed.

I laughed, and then the tears streamed down.

So that was it. All that gentle care for three years was just a sugar coating wrapped around poison.

Julian, you truly have a cruel heart.

I walked home like a ghost, clutching the lab report.

Pushing open the door, Julian was sitting on the sofa, reading.

Seeing me, he immediately put down his book and came over.

"Darling, you're back! Was the training tiring? You don't look so good." He reached out to embrace me.

I took a step back, avoiding him.

His smile froze for a moment; he looked at me, confused.

"What's wrong?"

I didn't speak. I just walked up to him and threw the printed lab report onto the coffee table in front of him.

"Julian, explain this to me. What is this?"

He picked up the paper. The moment his eyes landed on the words "Spironolactone," his face instantly turned ashen.

His hands began to tremble, his lips quivered, unable to utter a single word.

The shock and panic on his face didn't seem feigned. This made me even more confused.

If this was his meticulously planned conspiracy, he shouldn't be so distraught.

"You... how did you find this out?" He finally found his voice, but it was filled with terror.

"Don't worry about how I found out," my voice was as cold as ice. "You just need to tell me why. Why were you feeding me this? For three years of marriage, you've been feeding me sterilizing drugs every day. Why?"

I expected him to argue, to deny it.

But he didn't.

He looked at me, his eyes filling with pain and despair, and then, he did something I never would have expected.

He dropped to his knees in front of me with a thud.

A man over six feet tall, kneeling on the floor without an ounce of dignity, clutching my pants leg, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Darling, I'm so sorry, I failed you..." He cried hysterically, like a guilty child.

I was stunned by his sudden action.

What was this? Repentance?

"Get up! Don't put on an act here!" I angrily tried to shake him off, but he held on tight.

"I won't get up! Darling, please listen to me, it's not what you think!" He looked up, his face tear-streaked. "I did all this for your own good!"

"For my good?" I let out a bitter laugh. "You fed me sterilizing drugs and claim it was for my good? Julian, do you take me for a fool?"

"It's true!" He wailed. "Darling, I... I have a disease, a family genetic condition!"

My heart suddenly skipped a beat.

A genetic condition?

"The men in my family, none of them live past forty. It's a rare neurodegenerative disease. When it flares up, you become completely paralyzed, lose all sensation, and eventually die in agony. My father had it, and my grandfather had it too..."

He choked, almost unable to continue.

"I love you, I love you so much, Scarlett. I couldn't let you bear the pain of giving birth to a child, only to watch them suffer the same fate as me. I also couldn't bear for you to lose your husband in middle age and struggle to live alone with a sick child."

"So, I could only use this method. I didn't want you to get pregnant, I didn't want us to have children. I fed you the medication because I wanted you to never experience the agony of seeing a child suffer."

His voice was filled with sorrow and helplessness, every word like a knife piercing my heart.

He sounded so sincere, so heartbroken, I almost believed him.

"Then why didn't you tell me sooner?" I demanded, though my voice softened.

"How could I say it?" He gave a self-deprecating laugh, tears flowing even harder. "Tell you I'm a dying man? Tell you our marriage was doomed to be a tragedy from the start? I couldn't! I was afraid you'd leave me. I was selfish, I wanted you by my side, even if only for a few short years."

He got up from the floor, took a medical record file from his study drawer, and handed it to me.

"This is my medical record, and my father's and grandfather's death certificates. I didn't lie to you."

My hands trembled as I took the file.

Opening it, I saw a series of complex medical reports and diagnostic papers.

The diagnosis section clearly read: Hereditary Sensorimotor Neuropathy.

Attached were his father's and grandfather's medical records, with the same disease listed as the cause of death.

My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the couch.

So, all of this wasn't betrayal, but a man's deep and twisted love? To spare me future pain, he chose this method, preemptively robbing me of my right to be a mother?

I didn't know whether to cry or laugh.

"Darling, I'm so sorry..." Julian knelt before me, carefully taking my hand. "I know I was wrong, terribly wrong. I should have told you everything sooner. But I truly just didn't want you to suffer. Hit me, curse me, do anything you want, just don't leave me, please?"

My mind was a tangled mess. Hatred was replaced by an overwhelming sense of grief and absurdity.

If what he said was true, how was I supposed to face him? This man who used the cruelest method to "protect" me.

I looked at his tear-reddened eyes, at his face full of pleading and remorse.

I pulled my hand away and stood up.

"Julian, I need to be alone."

I locked myself in the room.

I slid down the door to the floor, clutching the "medical record."

My mind was blank.

Should I believe him?