Early This Morning by Yelyzaveta Maiboroda

It was Monday morning when I decided to poison her.

The sun had barely risen, casting shadows through the house's windows. Silence was everywhere, but it was broken only by the clock ticking in the corridor. Walking through the kitchen, I thought about all the years I had served her. The countless mornings and evenings spent in fear, the commands, the shouting without a hint of gratitude, the way she looked at me as if I were nothing.

I have lived in this house since childhood, when I could barely carry a tray without spilling my food. Over the years, I have watched the house change. I saw her children grow up and move away, her husband died, and the rooms slowly became dusty and silent. I could never do anything right in her eyes. Every mistake was a personal insult, every success was just a performance of duty. She never thanked me. Perhaps she didn't even know that it was possible to be grateful.

That morning, the decision came to me so clearly that I was scared. It was as if the devil had touched me, prompting me to do his bidding. It was a blur in my eyes and brain. I went to the pantry, slowly. I found the bottle I had hidden a few months ago. It was a gift from a friend who had seen the darkness in my eyes. I poured a few drops into her tea in the morning, the liquid swirling as if it knew the weight of what I had done.

She called me to breakfast. I carried the tray into her room, the tea steaming next to the toast and honey. She didn't look up when I entered, her eyes fixed on the newspaper. I put the tray down and stood aside, waiting. She took a sip, then another, the bitterness of the tea hiding behind the sweetness of the sugar. She glanced at me, her face as unreadable as ever, before returning to the newspaper.

Minutes passed, and I watched her intently. She moved in her seat, her hand trembling slightly as she turned the page. A cough escaped her lips, then another. She looked up at me, her eyes were confused. It was probably the first time in her life she had ever felt fear.

 stood there in silence as she tried to get up, her strength fading. She fell back into the chair, panting. I moved closer, watching the life drain from her face, feeling nothing but the echo of all those years of resentment and anger.

When it was over, the house seemed to hold its breath. The silence was complete, the only sound was the clock ticking. I turned and left the room, the weight of my decision settling on my shoulders. The house felt different, as if it too had realised that something had changed irrevocably.

I returned to the kitchen, washed the cup and put it back. I looked out the window at the garden, bathed in light. For the first time in many years, I felt peaceful, the peace that had eluded me for so long.

It was 10 a.m., birds were singing everywhere, and the house was chilly. Underneath my calmness, a new feeling emerged - an awareness of what I had done and what it meant for the rest of my life. I knew that the peace was fleeting, that the ghosts of my actions would haunt me. But now, at this moment, I allowed myself to breathe, to feel the weight lift off me, even if only for a little while.