My DIL takes pride in her carrot cake, but it always tastes bitter. My son once whispered to her, “Mom’s starting to suspect you’re adding something. Can’t you make it less obvious?” Curious, I checked their kitchen and found my depression meds next to a mortar and pestle.
I’d stopped taking them years ago despite my son’s urging. It turns out they’ve been sneaking the meds into my food, especially the cake. When I confronted my son, he said it was for my well-being. While I appreciate his concern, I can’t help feeling betrayed.
