“I don’t have a drug problem!” I burst out. “This is all just a huge mistake!”

The two of them exchange looks. I really dislike these meaningful looks they’re giving each other. Monica barely knows him! I’m his wife!

“I think Monica’s concerns are really valid,” he says. “And… well, we’ve come up with a compromise. We’d like you to attend an inpatient drug rehabilitation program.”

My mouth falls open. “You want me to go to rehab?”

He nods. “Yes. There are a lot of great programs. I called up a bunch of them yesterday and—”

“I’m not going to rehab!” This is insane. I’m not going to rehab when I haven’t done drugs even once in my entire life!

Monica puts her hand on Sam’s. I want to reach across the coffee table and strangle her with my bare hands. “I told you she wasn’t going to want to do it.”

“This is not negotiable, Abby,” Sam says. “If you don’t do this, I’m going to allow Monica out of her contract.”

I can’t believe this is happening. How could I be in this situation? I don’t do drugs. The only way it could be in my urine is if someone slipped it to me. But how could that happen? I can’t even think of a time when…

Wait a minute…

“My coffee!” I gasp, pointing at Monica. “You bring me coffee every morning. You must be slipping it in my coffee!”

Monica’s eyes widen. Sam, on the other hand, turns bright red. “Abby, please, you’re embarrassing yourself,” he says.

“Don’t you see?” I cry. “It’s the only explanation!” I glare at her. “And she probably grabbed my keys out of my purse and made a copy, then planted the meth in the drawer.”

Sam drops his head into his hands. “Abby…”

I stand up off the chair, my legs trembling underneath me. “Search her purse, Sam. I bet you’ll find a copy of my keys in there.”

Sam stands up too. “Are you out of your mind, Abby? I’m not searching her purse!”

“I don’t mind if you look through my purse,” Monica speaks up.

“No.” Sam folds his arms across his chest. “You’re out of control, Abby. I mean it. I want you to think about what I said about going to rehab, because if you don’t… well, I just don’t know.”

I stare at him. “What does that mean?”

He’s quiet for a moment, the silence heavy between us. He finally looks down at Monica. “Mon, could you step outside? I need to talk to Abby alone.”

“Of course, Sammy,” she says softly. “I’ll… um, see you later.”

Mon. Sammy. Oh, and later. What does “later” mean?