# **A Poisoned Glass of Wine**

The evening was peaceful, as if the world had forgotten its rush and bustle. In a tenement house on a narrow street in the Old Town, streetlights were lit, casting a warm glow on the cobblestone sidewalks. In one of the apartments, on the ground floor, an idyllic atmosphere prevailed – a table covered with a white tablecloth, the aroma of roast duck and fresh herbs wafting through the air.

Anna was preparing dinner carefully. Every detail had significance: silver cutlery, crystal glasses, fresh flowers in a vase. Her husband, Marek, had just returned from work. Tired but smiling, he sat down at the table.

"Today we're celebrating our tenth anniversary," Anna said, handing him a glass of red wine, the aroma of which was intense and sweet, as if it held the wine's entire history.

Marek smiled faintly, unsuspecting of anything amiss.

"Thank you, darling. It looks beautiful," he replied, raising his glass in the air.

It wasn't long before Marek took his first sip. First, he muttered something with a unique flavor, then suddenly he felt a strange knot in his stomach. His face paled, his eyes widening with terror.

"What... what's going on...?" he whispered, leaning against the table.

Anna looked at him calmly, almost indifferently. There was no trace of panic in her eyes, only cold determination. The glass of wine she held in her hand was already empty.

Marek tried to stand, but his legs gave out. He slowly sank to the floor, still trying to grab Anna's hand.

"Anna... why...?" he whispered, his voice growing fainter with each passing second.

Silence reigned in the room, broken only by the soft tapping of the clock on the wall. The scent of wine hung in the air, now bitter and metallic, as if confessing to betrayal.

Anna knelt beside him, gently smoothing his hair with a love no one could fathom.

"It was necessary," she whispered calmly. "You couldn't leave without resolving certain matters."

Marek didn't respond anymore. His eyes closed forever, and his body went limp. The wineglass rested on the table, leaving only a trace of the red liquid that had witnessed betrayal, hatred, and a planned act of revenge.

After a moment, Anna stood, took the glass, looked at him with a cold, measured gaze, and slowly left the apartment. Outside, the night was silent, and the streetlamps cast light on the wet cobblestones, reflecting the image of a woman who had just closed the door on one of the most important chapters of her life.

No one knew what had happened that night. Everything seemed like a sudden, tragic accident. Yet, in the silence of the apartment, the scent of wine and the shadow of a woman who had taken her life in a single, silent sip remained.

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If you'd like, I can write an **extended version with flashbacks** in which Anna prepares for this crime and shows what drove her to commit such a dramatic act. It will add more tension and psychological depth to the story.

Would you like me to do that version?