My Mother-in-law Poisoned My Food To Prove My Deadly Allergy Was Fake.

But Blake also said we had the right to reject the deal and go to trial. If we won at trial, Linda might get fifteen to twenty years.

If we lost, she might get nothing. James and I went home and talked about it for hours.

I was exhausted. I wanted it over.

I wanted to stop thinking about Linda every single day. But I also wanted her to face the full consequences.

She tried to murder me. That’s what the charges should say: not assault, murder.

We met with Blake again three days later and told him we wanted to reject the plea deal. The victim impact session happened at a community center downtown.

Blake said other people Linda had hurt wanted to meet me. I walked into a conference room with James.

Two women were already sitting at the table. The first woman was maybe forty, with dark hair.

She introduced herself and said she had a severe peanut allergy. Linda had put peanut butter in a sauce at a family dinner three years ago.

The woman ended up in the hospital with anaphylaxis. Linda told everyone it was an accident.

The second woman was younger, maybe thirty. She had celiac disease.

Linda made a special gluten-free dish for her at Christmas dinner two years ago. The woman got violently sick for three days afterward.

She found out later the dish had regular flour in it. Linda said the package must have been mislabeled.

Both women said they’d thought they were alone. They’d thought it was just bad luck or an honest mistake.

Now they knew Linda had targeted them on purpose. We talked for two hours.

We shared our stories. We cried together.

I realized Linda wasn’t just someone who made bad choices. She was a serial abuser who genuinely enjoyed proving people wrong even when it hurt them.

She got satisfaction from making people sick and then acting like they were overreacting. The other women agreed to testify at trial.

Blake said having multiple victims would make the case much stronger. He said it showed a pattern of behavior.

He said juries would see Linda wasn’t confused or mistaken. She knew exactly what she was doing and had done it over and over again.

James and I told Blake we were absolutely sure about going to trial. We wanted Linda to face attempted murder charges.

That’s what she did to me. The other victims felt the same way about their cases.

Blake warned us the trial would be hard and long. But he said he felt confident about getting a conviction now.

The trial started on a Monday morning in October. The courtroom was smaller than I expected.

The jury sat in two rows along one wall. Linda sat at the defense table in a different nice dress.

She looked at me once when I walked in. Her face showed nothing.

The trial lasted two weeks. Blake called witness after witness.

My doctor testified about my medical history. The restaurant manager testified about the security footage.

The forensic specialist testified about the pharmaceutical-grade shellfish extract. Each of the other victims testified about what Linda did to them.

I testified for six hours over two days. The defense lawyer tried everything.

He said Linda was a confused grandmother who didn’t understand. He said she was mentally ill and couldn’t help her behavior.

He said she never meant real harm. But Blake had the notebook with Linda’s detailed notes about testing me.

He had the expensive shellfish extract she’d ordered online. He had the security footage showing her looking around before poisoning my food.

He had the pattern of behavior with multiple victims over five years. He had my medical records proving my allergy was real and severe.

The jury went to deliberate on a Thursday afternoon. James and I sat in the hallway outside the courtroom.

We didn’t talk much; we just waited. Six hours later, the bailiff came out and said the jury had reached a verdict.

We went back inside. The jury foreman stood up.

The judge asked if they’d reached a verdict. The foreman said yes.

The judge asked what they decided. The foreman said, “Guilty of attempted murder.”

The judge’s face stayed hard while he read the sentence. Fifteen years with parole possible after ten, and mandatory psychiatric treatment for the whole time.

He looked straight at Linda and said her complete lack of remorse made her dangerous to others. He said she still insisted she was helping people, which proved she didn’t understand what she’d done wrong.

Linda jumped up from her chair and screamed across the courtroom. She said, “This was my fault.”

She said, “I destroyed the family and ruined everyone’s lives.”

The bailiff grabbed her arm, but she kept yelling while they pulled her toward the door. I sat there watching her face twist with anger, and something inside me finally let go.

I’d been carrying guilt about pressing charges, about putting James through this, and about breaking up his family. But hearing her blame me one more time showed she still didn’t get it.

She still thought she was the victim. James squeezed my hand, and we walked out of the courthouse together.

We spent three weeks looking at apartments across town. James wanted distance from his mother’s side of the family, and I needed a fresh start somewhere that didn’t remind me of hospital rooms and court dates.

We found a place with big windows and a kitchen where I could see everything I cooked. James got a new job at a company thirty minutes away from his old office.

Kenji helped us move and stayed for dinner that first night. He checked every ingredient without me asking.

He was reading labels twice and calling the manufacturer about the pasta sauce. The family split down the middle after the sentencing.

Some relatives understood what Linda did and kept in touch. Others thought we were cruel for not accepting the plea deal.

James’ aunt stopped speaking to us completely. We learned to be okay with the division.

I found a support group that met Tuesday nights at a community center downtown. Eight people sat in a circle talking about family members who hurt them.

One woman’s father was in prison for assault. Another man’s brother had stolen everything he owned.

They understood the weird grief of losing someone who was still alive. They got why I felt sad about Linda being in prison even though I knew she needed to be there.

Summer kept working with me on the food anxiety. I started calling restaurants ahead of time and talking directly to the chef.

I explained my allergy and asked specific questions about ingredients and preparation. Most chefs were great about it.

I ate out three times in one month without panicking. James and I learned to talk about hard things instead of avoiding conflict.

We fought sometimes, but we worked through it instead of pretending everything was fine. One year after the poisoning, I woke up and realized I felt good, really good.

I’d started a blog about navigating severe allergies and dealing with people who dismissed them. Hundreds of people commented, saying they had similar experiences.

They thanked me for helping them advocate for themselves. James and I talked about starting a family over breakfast one Saturday morning.

I felt confident I could teach kids to set boundaries and protect themselves. Linda was in prison and would be for years.

That made James sad sometimes, and I understood. But we both knew it was the only way to keep people safe from her.

I carried two EpiPens now in a special case. I probably always would, but I wasn’t afraid anymore.

I was just careful, which is exactly what I should be.