My Husband Gifted Me A Silk Dress That Nearly Killed His Sister. He Blamed Me For Her “Allergy,” But I Found Drugs In Her Tea. What Is He Trying To Hide?

Matthew didn’t give it to me to stupidly test a curse as he had invented. It was a cruel and calculated psychological test.

After almost 10 years, perhaps Matthew and my mother-in-law wanted to check how deeply ingrained Clara’s illness was. They wanted to see Clara’s reaction to seeing another person, her sister-in-law, wearing the object of her trauma.

They wanted to know if Clara would still react violently as before, or if time had faded that fear. If Clara didn’t react, maybe they would slowly relax their control.

But if Clara fell ill, it would prove that their farce was still working. They would have to continue imprisoning her in that invisible cage.

And Matthew’s scream, “You’ve killed my sister”? That scream wasn’t out of panic for Clara’s life.

It was a scream of fear. He was afraid that the puppet he had so carefully constructed for 10 years would react unexpectedly.

He feared that Clara’s convulsions were not from trauma, but a sign that real memories were resurfacing, fighting to get out. He feared his play was about to end.

I shivered. The truth was even crueler than I could have imagined.

Matthew wasn’t just a coward. He was a director, a cold-blooded psychological manipulator.

He had turned his own sister into a lab rat in his family’s sick experiment. I looked at Mr. Alvarez, my voice trembling with indignation. “The medicine my mother-in-law gives Clara… what is it, sir?”

Mr. Alvarez sighed. “I’m not entirely sure, but from what I’ve been able to find out, it could be a type of neuroleptic.” “Or worse, a drug that causes memory loss with long-term use. It keeps her in a drowsy, confused state, unable to think clearly. It’s the main tool they use to control her.”

The herb dregs I had hidden—I suddenly remembered that this was the only physical evidence I had. “Sir,” I said, as a plan began to form in my head. “I have to go back to that house. I can’t abandon Clara.”

“I have to find a way to get a sample of that medicine and have it analyzed. And… and I have to find a way to talk to Clara.”

Mr. Alvarez looked at me worriedly. “It’s very dangerous, Sophia. Now that they know you suspect something, they won’t let you act so easily.”

“I know,” I nodded, an unprecedented determination in my eyes. “But if I don’t do it, no one can save Clara. She has suffered too much. It’s time she knew the truth, no matter how painful.”

I knew my biggest challenge now was not confronting Matthew or my mother-in-law. It was how to approach and awaken a soul that had been imprisoned in darkness for 10 years—a soul that didn’t even know it was a prisoner.

Returning to that house after talking with Mr. Alvarez, I felt like I was walking into the lion’s den. Everything was the same: the same facade of false peace.

But now, in my eyes, every corner, every object was stained with guilt. Matthew’s gaze towards me was no longer just evasive, but also wary.

My mother-in-law watched me even more closely. She barely let me out of her sight, as if she feared I would do something terrible.

But the more alert they were, the more cunning I had to be. I knew I couldn’t be rash.

The first thing I had to do was get a sample of the medicine. I waited patiently for several days.

I pretended to have accepted my fate, returning to being the quiet, hardworking daughter-in-law. I stopped confronting them, stopped showing my frustration.

My change in attitude seemed to relax Matthew and my mother-in-law’s vigilance a bit. The opportunity came one afternoon.

My mother-in-law had to go to the town hall for some business. She tasked me with looking after Clara, but didn’t forget to lock her bedroom door as usual.

As soon as I heard the sound of her car driving away, I acted. I ran to the kitchen where she used to prepare the infusion.

Luckily, there was still a bit of yesterday’s concentrate left in the teapot. Carefully using a small syringe I had prepared, I drew a little, put it in a clean glass vial, and hid it well.

With the sample in my possession, my heart beat faster. But I knew this was only the first step.

The biggest challenge lay ahead: how to talk to Clara? Her bedroom door was always locked.

I couldn’t use the old set of keys again; they had surely taken precautions. I paced back and forth in the hallway, my nerves on edge.

Suddenly I remembered a detail. Clara’s room and Matthew’s study shared a small balcony, separated only by a low wall.

If I could get into Matthew’s study… I tiptoed down and tried the doorknob to the study. Locked.

I was about to despair, but then my gaze fell on the small ventilation grill above the door. It had no bars.

I looked around and saw a stool in a corner. A bold idea occurred to me.

I knew it was very risky, but I had no other choice. I placed the stool and shakily climbed up.

Since I’m petite, I was luckily able to squeeze through the grill. I landed inside Matthew’s study with my heart pounding.

I ran to the balcony. Just as I thought, I only had to climb over the small wall to get to the balcony of Clara’s room.

The balcony door to Clara’s room was unlocked. I opened it gently and went inside.

Clara was sitting on the bed with her back to me, her long hair falling over her thin shoulders. She was humming a familiar tune—a clear, yet unsettling melody.

I took a deep breath and called her name softly. “Clara?”

Clara jumped and turned abruptly. When she saw me, her eyes widened in evident panic. She shrank back, retreating to a corner of the bed, clutching her head. “You! How did you get in here?” “Mom said no one could come in.”

I approached slowly, holding out my hands to show her I meant no harm. “Clara, don’t be afraid. I just want to talk to you.”

“No! Go away!” Clara cried in a pitiful voice. “It’s your fault! It’s all your fault! You brought that dress! You called her! She’s here! I see her!”

The girl began to tremble violently, her gaze fixed on an empty spot behind me. I knew her hallucination had returned.

I sat beside her, my heart aching, trying to keep my voice as gentle as possible. “Clara, there’s no one here. It’s just you and me. Look carefully. She’s not there.”

Clara became more and more terrified. I knew that if this continued, I couldn’t tell her anything.

I had to do something to snap her out of her hallucination. Suddenly I remembered the old rag doll I had seen in the secret box. “Clara,” I said quickly. “Do you remember your rag doll? The doll you used to sleep with?”

Hearing about the doll, Clara paused. Her tremors seemed to lessen a bit. Her gaze was no longer lost in the void, but fixed on me with a hint of bewilderment. “Doll? How do you know?”

“I know. And I also know about the butterfly hair clip—the one with the broken wing.” “You hid them in a wooden box under your bed, didn’t you, Clara?”

Clara was completely astonished. She stared at me, the fear in her eyes gradually replaced by curiosity. “How… how do you know these things?”

I knew this was the moment. I took her cold hand. “Clara, trust me. Everything you’re seeing, everything you’re feeling, isn’t real.” “You are not guilty. You didn’t kill anyone.”

“No!” Clara screamed again, pulling her hand away. “It was me! I drove the car! I killed her! Mom and Matthew told me!”

I said loudly, firmly: “They lied to you.” “They have been deceiving you for 10 years. The person driving that day wasn’t you.” “Don’t you remember, Clara? Try to remember. Who else was in the car that day?”

I tried to awaken Clara’s memories, but they seemed to be buried too deep. She just clutched her head and shook it vigorously as tears streamed down her face. “I don’t remember! I don’t remember anything!” “My head hurts! Go away, please! Go away!”

Seeing Clara’s pain and anguish, I knew I couldn’t push her any further. Her mind was too fragile.

I backed away, my voice choked. “Okay, I’ll go. But Clara, remember what I told you. You are not guilty. Trust yourself. Don’t believe what they tell you.”

I turned around and jumped back over the balcony. Just as I was entering Matthew’s study, I heard the sound of my mother-in-law’s car arriving at the gate.

My heart almost leaped out of my chest. I quickly squeezed back through the ventilation grill, put the stool back, and ran to my room trying to catch my breath.

I had failed in my attempt to awaken Clara, but I knew my words were like little seeds planted in the arid soil of her soul. They might not sprout immediately, but with a chance, with a strong enough push, they would grow.

And I didn’t know that chance would come in a way no one could have foreseen.

Breaking the Puppet’s Strings

The days following my secret encounter with Clara passed in a tense calm. I didn’t dare do anything else for fear of alerting them.

My mother-in-law didn’t seem to discover that I had snuck into the room, but she watched Clara even more closely. She barely left the house and was always by her side.

Clara remained the same: silent and absent. But sometimes I would catch her looking at me—a confused, fearful, and curious gaze, as if she were trying to find an answer.

I knew my words had had an effect, but they needed a final push. Meanwhile, I secretly sent the medicine sample to Mr. Alvarez.

He promised to have it analyzed at a trusted lab and give me the results as soon as possible. I could only wait; every day felt like an eternity.

And then that push came, not from me, but from Matthew himself. That night, Matthew came home completely drunk.

He didn’t lock himself in his study as usual, but collapsed in the living room, drinking straight from a bottle of brandy. My mother-in-law, seeing him, went to scold him. “What’s wrong with you, son? What happened to make you drink like this?”

Matthew didn’t answer, just took another big gulp. Suddenly he burst into tears—choked, heart-wrenching sobs from a man who had been holding back for too long. “Mom, I’m so tired. I don’t want to live like this anymore.” “I failed her and I failed Clara too.”

Isabelle, scared, tried to cover his mouth. “Are you crazy? What nonsense are you talking about? Someone might hear you!”

I was hiding behind the staircase; my heart pounded. I heard every word.

In his drunken state, Matthew’s respectable facade had completely crumbled, revealing a soul eaten away by guilt. The argument grew louder.

Matthew, drunk, yelled: “I don’t want to keep deceiving her! I don’t want to see Clara live like a ghost!” “It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault!”

Those shouts reached Clara’s room. The door to her room burst open.

Clara stood there, her face pale, her eyes wide with horror. She had heard everything.

The memory of our conversation, combined with her brother’s drunken confession, seemed to be too great a shock. Clara clutched her head, let out a heart-rending scream, and collapsed on the floor unconscious.

The house was once again plunged into chaos. Matthew sobered up instantly and, together with my mother-in-law, they rushed Clara to the hospital.

This time I didn’t just stand by. I knew this was the only chance.

I ran after them to the car, insisting on going. “I have to go! What happened to her has to do with me too!”

Perhaps due to the confusion, Matthew and my mother-in-law didn’t stop me. On the way to the hospital, I received a text from Mr. Alvarez.

He had the analysis results. Just as we suspected, the medicine Clara took daily contained a potent neuroleptic.

Its prolonged use could cause memory loss, hallucinations, and total dependence. It was what had turned Clara into their puppet.