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I winced. This wasn't acting. Whatever she'd given me had hit me hard this time. But maybe I could use that to my advantage.

I remembered what Graham had told me about staying strong. About how I was tougher than I thought I was. About how I'd survived London and I could survive anything. I thought about Little Grandma's fierce love, the way she'd believed in me even when I didn't believe in myself. The warmth of their faith settled me.

I could do this. I had to do this. Play victim. Get free. Take down the crazy bitch.

“Glenda,” I whispered, letting my voice shake. “I feel really sick.”

“Oh no.” She rushed over to me, her hands fluttering around my face. “What kind of sick? Nauseous? Dizzy?”

Before I could answer, my stomach betrayed me for real. The bile rose in my throat with no warning, and I turned my head just in time to avoid puking all over myself. The vomit hit the hardwood floor with a wet splat, and the gross smell made my stomach heave again.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God.” Glenda's voice went high and panicked. “This is bad. This is really bad. I'm so sorry, Joy. I'm so, so sorry.”

Tears streamed down her face as she ran to what looked like a kitchen and came back with a handful of paper towels. She knelt beside the couch and started cleaning up the mess, her hands shaking.

“I should have been more careful with the dosage.” She was talking more to herself than to me now. “I looked it up online, but I must have read it wrong. Oh God, what if I gave you too much? What if I permanently hurt you?”

I let my head fall back against the pillow, playing up my weakness. But inside, a small spark of hope flared to life. She was scared. Scared that she'd hurt me, scared that she'd done permanent damage. I could work with this.

“Water,” I croaked. “Please.”

“Yes, of course. Anything you need.” Glenda dropped the soiled towels and hurried back to the kitchen.

I used the few seconds she was gone to take stock of my situation again. I remembered everything now. We were at a lake house. I’d been able to see the lake from the kitchen table. Now all I could see through the windows were trees. We were isolated, which was bad for me but probably exactly what Glenda had planned.

I needed something to cut through my bindings. But first, I had to get Glenda to leave me alone long enough to find a knife.

She came back with a glass of water and a worried expression.

“Here, let me help you sit up a little.” She slipped her arm behind my shoulders and lifted me gently. The movement sent fresh waves of nausea through me, and I didn't have to fake the groan that escaped my lips.

“I don't think I can keep anything down.” I let the weakness in my voice sound real. “My stomach feels like it's trying to turn inside out.”

“Maybe if you just take tiny sips?” Glenda held the glass to my lips.

I took a small mouthful and immediately forced myself to retch it back up. The water splashed onto my shirt and the couch, and Glenda jumped back with a cry of alarm.

“It's not working.” I closed my eyes and let my head loll to the side. “Everything just comes right back up.”

“This is all my fault.” Glenda was pacing now, her voice getting higher and more frantic with each word. “I should have stuck with the original dose. I should have been more careful. What if you're having an allergic reaction? What if your brain swells? What if⁠—”

“Glenda.” I forced myself to look at her, to make my voice as gentle as possible despite the very real pain in my head. “It's not your fault.”

She stopped pacing and stared at me. “What?”

“This isn't your fault. You love me. I know you would never do anything to hurt me on purpose.” God, I deserved an Oscar for saying that with a straight face. “You're just trying to take care of me.”

Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “I am. I love you so much, Joy. I just wanted us to have time together without all the distractions. Without him pulling you away from me.”

“I know.” I let my eyelids flutter close, like I was struggling to stay conscious. “But I think I need something for my stomach. Maybe some ginger ale? Or crackers?”

“I don't have any ginger ale.” Glenda's voice was thick with tears. “I should have thought of that. I should have prepared better.”

“What about Sprite? Seven-Up? Anything with bubbles might help.”

“No, I don't have anything like that. Just water and some lemonade I made. How about scones?” She was wringing her hands again.

“God no!”