Lethean Elixir
My husband, Mark, was a pharmaceutical
giant. The day he perfected the “Lethean
Elixir,” a drug designed to erase deep–seated
emotions, our son, Ethan, finally cracked a
smile. “Can we give this to Mom?” he asked, “So she won’t love us anymore?”
Mark nodded resolutely. Ethan brought the
elixir to me, a syrupy green concoction, and
with a practiced lie, convinced me to drink it.
I gave a bitter laugh and downed it in one
gulp. Father and son exchanged relieved
glances. They were finally free to be with her.
But why, then, did they weep and wail later,
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“Don’t you love us at all anymore?”
When Ethan brought me the murky green liquid, I knew what was coming. I didn’t take the glass, just stared at him, a silent, heavy gaze I’d never leveled at him before. Fifteen years, gone. I knew exactly what that drink was: Lethean Elixir, Mark’s company’s latest breakthrough. A simple name for a complex drug: it severed your strongest emotional attachments. And I loved Mark. I loved Ethan. Fiercely.
A psychic once told me I had a sensitive soul, prone to being consumed by emotions. She
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prone to being consumed by emotions. She
was right. I’d been with Mark for eighteen
years, from his days tinkering in our
basement to his corner office in the
pharmaceutical tower. We had Ethan, and for fifteen years, I’d nurtured him from a helpless infant into a brilliant, if aloof, teenager. They
were my world. My love for them was visceral, instinctive.
But when Ethan was eight, Mark’s “first love,” Amelia, reappeared. Long dark hair, flowing white dress, a captivating smile. “Hey, Marky,” she’d said with a playful wave, “You’re not as cute as you used to be.
Mark, successful and powerful, melted like butter. He’d claimed to despise Amelia for
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choosing a life abroad over him, yet here he
was, captivated. It was me who’d pulled him back from the brink of despair all those years ago, who’d helped him build his empire from
scratch.
Ethan, always reserved and analytical like his father, was equally smitten. When Amelia. ruffled his hair, he’d blushed, stammering out a shy, “Hi, Amelia.” Just like that, they became a tight–knit trio, and I, the outsider. My protests, my tears, my desperate pleas were met with a dismissive, “Don’t be so dramatic. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
Amelia, sensing the turmoil, left a note for Mark, saying she was returning the family to
- me. Then she vanished. Her departure didn’t
fix anything. Mark clutched the note, eyes blazing, blaming me for driving her away.
Ethan, his face contorted with rage, hurled his backpack at me, vowing never to call me “Mom” again.
The life drained out of our home. Mark moved into his office, refusing to share my bed. Ethan, for seven long years, barely
acknowledged my existence. And now, he was
offering me tea. Eagerly awaiting my compliance.
