But I already knew the answer. This was yet another ploy, another tactic. James was a calculated, risk-averse person. If he’d swallowed the oil despite knowing its dangerous effects, he must have thought it a last-ditch effort to win my favor. Why else would an unfaithful husband put himself in harm’s way? Perhaps he thought my concern for his physical well-being would trump my heartbreak; that my pity for him would expedite my forgiveness.

It had almost worked, but not quite. Because now, having distanced myself physically and emotionally from this man, I was able to see through him to his real nature, and it reeked of deceit and unfairness.

“You wanted me to pity you,” I said quietly, standing again.

“The last thing I want is your pity,” he said, his voice cold. “I just want you to see straight, to understand that you’ll regret this someday.”

“No, I won’t.” My hands shook as I spoke, but I went on without mincing words. “You’ve managed to twist so much blame onto me. Blame about your unhappiness, your mistress, now this ‘illness.’” He grew pale as my voice rose. “A few days ago, I thought nothing good would come of this anniversary trip. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. I know, now more than ever, that I’m not the cause of your errant ways, your unhappiness. I’ve learned more about our marriage while apart from you than I ever did when we lived under the same roof.”

A light tap at the door severed the conversation. It was just as well, for I feared I might collapse to the sticky, tiled floor if I went on much longer.

A young nurse stepped into the room and smiled at us obliviously. “We’re about ready to move you to your new room,” she told James. “Almost ready to go?”

James nodded stiffly; he suddenly looked extraordinarily tired. And as my adrenaline began to recede, I felt the same. Not unlike the night I arrived, I found myself longing for my pj’s, take-out food, and my low-lit, empty hotel room.

While the nurse unhooked James from the monitors, he and I said an awkward goodbye. The nurse confirmed he was queued up for discharge the next day, and I promised to return first thing in the morning. Then, having mentioned nothing of the apothecary or her shop to James, I made my way out, closing the heavy door behind me.

Back in my hotel room, nestled in the middle of the bed with a take-out carton of chicken pad thai in my lap, I could have cried tears of relief. There were no people and no police and no beeping hospital equipment...and no James. I didn’t even turn on the TV. Between mouthfuls of noodles, I just closed my eyes, leaned back my head and savored the silence.