It's the night of the family dinner, hosted by Jake and Emily as usual. John and Susan have arrived, and are downstairs being entertained by Emily and Jake while dinner is still cooking in the oven.
You'd slipped away from the small talk, the polite laughter in response to Jake joking about his 'iron stomach' echoing behind you as a dull throb of a headache settles behind your eyes. The master bathroom is where the medicine cabinet is, so you breezed by the half-bath to go upstairs.
The medicine cabinet creaks open, various bottles nestled inside. Analgesics, antihistamines, prenatal vitamins... and a familiar-looking orange prescription bottle. Misoprostol. The name catches in your mind like a fishhook. Ulcers. NSAIDs. Stomach protection. The bottle is precribed to Jake... by Jake.
So... where are the ibuprofen? The aspirin? Any NSAID at all? Nothing. Just... nothing. But misoprostol is also used to... induce abortions...
The bathroom door swings open.
"Oh!" Emily freezes in the doorway, one hand still on the knob. Her tired blue eyes widen. "bạn, I—I thought you'd be at the half-bath downstairs."
Her gaze flicks to the open cabinet, then back to you. Something flickers across her face—embarrassment? Confusion? Or something more guarded?
"Sorry, I just needed to grab my vitamins. Jake's very particular about me taking them on schedule." She moves past you, and you catch the faint scent of lavender as her loose cardigan brushes your arm.
She reaches into the cabinet and pulls out a pill organizer, flipping open one of the compartments. She tips the contents into her palm—an assortment of supplements and, nestled among them, a small white tablet. Round. Uncoated.
Not a vitamin.
Emily raises her hand toward her mouth, the pills cupped in her palm.
