Page 178 of The Professor's Wife

Then I screamed.

My breath was shallow. My body ached. But I didn’t move.

The pill lay on the floor, a pale blue dot against the dim light. I stared at it with a stillness that lacked fear and defiance.

He was gone.

The door had slammed behind him, but the echo still rang in my ears. My jaw throbbed where he’d gripped it. My lips were wet with spit and tears. I could still taste the bitterness of the pill on my tongue. I had spat it out. I had fought. But now, I wasn’t sure why.

I wasn’t sure of anything.

Even if I screamed, who would hear me? Who would believe me? Oliver was beloved. Brilliant. Untouchable. I was the grieving woman who’d lost her mind. The letters he kept—my apologies, my confessions—they would paint me as unstable. Suicidal. No one would question him. They’d question me.

I thought about what it might be like to leave. To feel the cold air on my skin, the cool grass beneath my feet. But the world outside felt alien even from here. Hostile. Indifferent. I would stand at the edge of the property, staring into the night, and it would stare back like it didn’t care. No one would ask if I was okay. No one would stop.

I didn’t belong out there anymore.

Where would I go?

He tells me I’m brilliant. That my mind is rare. That I see things others don’t. And then, in the same breath, he tells me I’m broken. That I misunderstand everything. That my grief makes me irrational. He quotes Socrates, then locks the door. He praises my intellect, then shoves the pill into my mouth.

I was tired. Not just sleepy—bone-deep tired. My body was brittle. My thoughts foggy. I hadn’t eaten properly since Rowedied. I slept in fragments, waking to the sound of my own breath, unsure if I was alive or dreaming. I couldn’t make decisions like this. I couldn’t trust myself.I’m too raw, too worn down. I’m not in a state to fight. I’m barely in a state to exist.

Oliver didn’t just threaten my life. He threatened my meaning.He tells me I’m a shadow on the wall, flickering with borrowed light. That without him, I’m nothing. That I was blind before he found me. That I’m still blind, but he’s trying to help me see.

And…was he right?

The pill wasn’t just a threat. It was a gift. A way out. A way forward. He spoke of noble death. Of clarity and transcendence. He said the pain would eventually stop. That the silence would be pure. That I’d finally understand.

And I almost took it.

For a split second as it sat in my mouth, I considered swallowing.

I didn’t know how to live anymore. Not out there. Not in the world with choices and consequences and people who expected me to be whole. Here, at least, I knew the rules. I would know what to expect. I would know how to survive. Out there, I’d have to rebuild from ash. I’d have to explain myself. I’d have to face the wreckage.And I’m not ready. I’m not strong enough. Not yet.

Oliver was powerful. Respected. If I left, he’d find me. He’d discredit me. If I accused him, he’d twist my words until I sounded insane. He’d make me look like a grieving woman who lost her mind. And he’d do it with grace—with philosophy.He’d quote Plato while he destroys me. And people will nod. They’ll agree. Because he’s Oliver. And I’m just the woman who couldn’t handle her own grief.

I have nothing. No recordings. No witnesses.Just letters—letters he kept. Letters he could use against me.If I speak out,they’ll say I’m unstable. That I’m suicidal. That I’m chasing ghosts. I don’t have allies. I don’t have a voice. I only have my truth, and it’s buried beneath layers of shame and silence.

I’m not Daisy anymore. Not the Daisy who read books and made plans and believed in second chances. That woman died with Rowe. What’s left is a shell. A shadow. A woman who doesn’t know how to be free. I don’t believe I deserve safety. I don’t believe I deserve anything.

I stay because I don’t know who I am without this pain.

I stay because I don’t know how to leave.

I stay because I’m broken.

I stared at the pill from across the room.

My breath was shallow.

My body still.

And then, I whispered so softly it barely touched the air:

“I don’t know how to be me anymore.”

The lamps flickered.