During dinner, my daughter discreetly slid a folded note in front of me that read, “Pretend you’re ill and get out of here.

During dinner, my daughter slipped a tiny folded note onto the table. Pretend youre ill and get out of here, it read.

When I unfolded the crumpled paper, I never imagined those five words, scrawled in Poppys familiar hand, would upend everything: Pretend youre ill and go. I looked at her, bewildered, and she shook her head frantically, eyes pleading for me to trust her. Only later did I understand why.

The morning had begun like any other at our house on the edge of London. It had been just over two years since I married Richard, a successful entrepreneur I met after my divorce. To everyone else we seemed perfect: a comfortable home, a healthy balance in the bank, and my daughter, Poppy, finally enjoying the stability shed long needed. At fourteen, Poppy was unusually observant and quiet, absorbing everything like a sponge. At first her relationship with Richard was strainedtypical for a teenager with a stepfatherbut over time they seemed to find a rhythm. At least, thats what I thought.

That Saturday, Richard invited his business partners over for a brunch. It was an important gathering; they were to discuss expanding the company, and Richard was keen to make a good impression. I spent the whole week polishing every detail, from the menu to the smallest decorative touches.

I was finishing a salad in the kitchen when Poppy appeared, her face pale, eyes tense. Fear flickered in her gaze.

Mum, she whispered, trying to be unnoticed, I need to show you something in my room.

Richard entered the kitchen at that moment, adjusting his crisp tie. He was always impeccably dressed, even for informal home meetings. What are you two whispering about? he asked with a smile that didnt reach his eyes.

Nothing, I replied automatically. Poppy just needs help with some school work.

Make it quick, he said, glancing at his watch. The guests arrive in thirty minutes and I need you with me.

I nodded and followed my daughter down the hallway. As soon as we entered her bedroom, she slammed the door shut, almost too hard. Whats wrong, love? Youre scaring me, I said.

She didnt answer. Instead she handed me a small piece of paper, eyes darting toward the door. I unfolded it and read the hurried words: Pretend youre ill and go. Now.

Poppy, what kind of joke is this? I asked, confused and a little irritated. We dont have time for games with guests arriving.

Its not a joke, she whispered, voice trembling. Please, Mum, trust me. You must leave this house right now. Make up any excuse. Say you feel sick, but go.

The desperation in her eyes froze me. In all my years as a mother I had never seen my daughter so serious, so frightened. Poppy, youre alarming me. Whats happening? I pressed.

She glanced toward the door as if fearing someone might overhear. I cant explain now. I promise Ill tell you everything later. Just trust me, please.

Before I could argue, footsteps sounded in the hallway. The door knob turned and Richard appeared, his expression visibly irritated. Whats taking you so long? The first guest just arrived, he said.

I looked at my daughter, whose eyes silently begged for help. On an impulse I decided to believe her. Im sorry, Richard, I said, placing a hand on my forehead. I suddenly feel a bit dizzy. I think it might be a migraine.

Richard narrowed his eyes. Now, Helen? You were fine five minutes ago.

I know. It just started, I explained, trying to look genuinely ill. You can start without me. Ill take a pill and lie down for a bit.

A tense pause followed, then the doorbell rang. Richard seemed to decide that the guests were more important than my protest. All right, but try to join us as soon as you can, he said, leaving the room.

When we were alone, Poppy grabbed my hands. Youre not going to lie down. Were leaving right now. Say you need to go to the chemist for something stronger. Ill come with you, she urged.

Its absurd, Poppy. I cant abandon our guests, I protested.

Mum, she whispered, voice shaking, please. This is about your life.

Something raw and genuine in her fear made my skin crawl. What could frighten my daughter so much? What did she know that I didnt? I grabbed my handbag and the car keys and headed for the living room where Richard was chatting with two suited men.

Richard, excuse me, I interrupted, trying to keep my voice steady. My headache is getting worse. Im going to the chemist; Poppy will come with me.

His smile faltered for a heartbeat before he turned back to the guests with a resigned sigh. My wife isnt feeling well, he said. Well be back soon. His tone was casual, but his eyes held something I couldnt read.

We got into the car. Poppys hands trembled as she took the wheel. Drive, Mum, she said, eyes fixed on the house as if expecting disaster. Get as far away as you can. Ill explain everything on the way.

I slammed the engine and sped off, a storm of questions racing through my mind. What could be so serious? As she spoke, my world began to crumble.

Richard is trying to kill you, Mum, Poppy said, her voice broken by sobs. I heard him on the phone last night, talking about putting poison in your tea.

I braked hard, almost colliding with a parked lorry at a traffic light. My heart pounded, my breath shallow. The words sounded like something out of a cheap thriller.

What are you saying? Thats not funny, I managed, voice shaking.

Would I joke about something like that? she sniffed, eyes wide with terror. I heard everything, Mum. Everything.

A car behind us honked, and the light turned green. I accelerated, driving aimlessly, desperate to put distance between us and the house. Tell me exactly what you heard, I asked, trying to stay calm as my pulse raced.

Poppy inhaled deeply before beginning. Last night I went down for a drink of water around two a.m. Richards office door was ajar, the light on. He was on the phone, whispering. At first I thought he was talking about the business, but then he said my name. He paused as if gathering courage. I thought he was discussing a deal, but then he said, Everything is set for tomorrow. Helen will take the tea as usual at the event. No one will suspect anything. It will look like a heart attack. Youll make sure of it. Then he laughed, like he was talking about the weather.

My knuckles went white as I gripped the steering wheel. This could not be real. Maybe you misheard, I suggested, seeking any rational explanation. Perhaps he was talking about another Helen, or it was a metaphor about a business move.

No, Mum. He said you, the brunch, the tea. He said if you were out of the way hed have full access to the lifeinsurance money and the house, she said, her voice shaking. He even mentioned my name, saying hed take care of me somehow.

A chill ran down my spine. Richard had always been caring, attentive. How could I have been so wrong? Why would he do that? I whispered, more to myself than to her.

The lifeinsurance policy you both took out six months ago. Do you remember? One hundred thousand pounds, she reminded me.

My stomach dropped. The policyRichard had pushed it hard, saying it was for my protection. Now it looked like a motive.

Theres more, Poppy continued, voice barely audible. After he hung up, he started going through some papers. I waited until he left, then I went into his office. There were documents about his debts, many of them. It looks like the company is near bankruptcy.

My mind raced. Richard in bankruptcy? How had I missed this?

And I found this, she said, pulling a folded slip from her pocket. Its an extract from another account in his name. Hes been moving small sums for months, trying not to raise suspicion.

I took the paper, hands shaking. It was a bank statement showing transfers from an account I never knew existed, money that should have been oursfrom the sale of the flat I inherited from my parents. The reality crystallised: Richard had been stealing from me for months, and now he decided my life was worth less than my money.

God, how could I have been so blind? I whispered, nausea rising.

Poppy placed a hand on mine, a surprisingly mature gesture of comfort. Its not your fault, Mum. He tricked everyone. She then whispered, Did you take those documents from his office? Hell notice theyre missing. Her eyes widened with fear. I photographed everything and put them back. He probably wont notice.

We both knew Richard was meticulous. We need to call the police, I said, reaching for my phone.

What? That he said it on the phone? That we have documents showing hes moving money? We have no proof, Mum, Poppy replied.

She was right. It was our word against a respected businessmans reputation. While we debated, my phone buzzed. A message from Richard: Where are you? The guests are asking for you.

It sounded so ordinary.

What now? Poppy asked, voice trembling.

We couldnt go back home, but we also couldnt simply disappear. Richard had resources; he would find us.

First we need solid proof, I said finally. Something tangible that the police can act on.

What, like the substance he plans to use? she asked.

My plan grew risky, perhaps reckless, but the terror giving way to cold determination made me know we had to act fast.

Well keep up the act. Ill say Im going to the chemist, take a painkiller, feel a bit better. You stay in your room pretending to be ill too. While I distract Richard and the guests, youll search the office, I instructed.

She nodded, resolve in her eyes. What if he sees me?

Send me a text that says now. If I get it, Ill make an excuse and well leave immediately. If you find something, take photos but dont take anything.

As we neared the house, my heart hammered. I was about to walk into the lions den. The driveway was filled with cars; the guests had arrived. The chatter inside greeted us as we opened the front door. Richard was at the centre of the salon, entertaining the crowd. When he saw us, his smile faded for a heartbeat.

Ah, youre back, he said, wrapping an arm around my waist. Feeling better, love?

Better, I forced a smile. The medicine is starting to work.

He turned to Poppy. And you, dear? You look a bit pale.

I have a headache too, Poppy replied, playing her part perfectly. I think Ill lie down for a while.

Of course, Richard said, his concern seeming sincere enough that, had I not known the truth, I might have believed him.

Poppy went upstairs; I joined the guests, accepting a glass of water Richard offered. I declined the champagne, saying it would clash with my medication.

Nothing with tea today? he asked, his eyes briefly flickering.

No, Im avoiding caffeine while I have a migraine, I replied lightly.

A shadow crossed his eyes, but the charm returned instantly. While Richard guided me through the crowd, I kept a tight smile, though inside I was on high alert. Each touch on my arm made me tense. I checked my phone discreetlyno message from Poppy yet.

Twenty minutes later, as Richard and I chatted with a couple, my phone buzzed. One word glowed on the screen: Now.

Cold fear seized me. We had to leave at once. Excuse us, I said to the group, forcing a grin. I need to check on Poppy. Before Richard could protest, I hurried up the stairs.

In her room Poppy was as white as paper. Its happening, she whispered, gripping my arm. I saw him go up and I ran in.

Did you find anything? I asked, pulling her toward the door.

Yes, in the office. A small, unlabelled bottle in his desk drawer. I took photos.

We had seconds. Footsteps echoed down the hallway and Richards voice called, Helen? Poppy? Are you there?

I exchanged a quick glance with my daughter. We couldnt escape through the hallway; he would see us. The bedroom window faced the back garden, but we were on the second floorfalling five metres would be dangerous but possible.

Stay where you are, I whispered. Well pretend were still talking.

The door opened and Richard stepped in, his gaze landing on Poppys frightened face. Everything alright? he asked, tone casual but eyes sharp.

Yes, I replied, trying to sound normal. Poppy still has a headache. I just wanted to see if she needed anything.

Richard studied us a moment, then said, Right, and you, love, are the one with the migraine.

Its fine, I lied. I think I can rejoin the party.

He smiled, though his eyes never quite reached his mouth. Great. Ive prepared that special tea you like. Its waiting in the kitchen.

My stomach lurched. The tea. The trap hed mentioned on the phone. Thanks, but I dont think Ill have any, I said, trying to buy time. The medicine

Insist, he urged, voice still warm but now edged with purpose. Its a new blend I ordered specifically for you. It helps with headaches.

I realized the danger: refusing outright would raise suspicion; drinking could be lethal. Alright, I said finally, buying minutes. Ill stay a bit longer with Poppy.

Richard hesitated, then nodded. Dont take too long.

The door shut behind him. Poppy and I exchanged alarmed looks. The tea, she whispered. Hell force you to drink it.

I know, I replied, panic rising. We have to get out now, even if we have to use the window. As we plotted escape, the lock clicked from the other side. Richard had locked us in.

Were locked in? Poppy shouted, racing to the door.

Fear threatened to freeze me, but I forced myself to think. If hed locked us, he suspected something. The window, I decided, moving quickly toward it. It was a fivemetre drop to the gardendangerous but survivable.

Its too high, Mum, Poppy protested, eyes wide with terror.

I know, love, but we have no choice. I scanned the room and spotted the duvet. We can use this as a makeshift rope. I tore it down and tied it to the heavy desk base. It wouldnt reach the ground, but it would lessen the fall.

Mom, the doors opening, Poppy whispered, hearing footsteps.

I heard the key turn in the lock. Quick, I urged, finishing the knot and tossing the duvet out the window. You go first. Drop as far as you can, then Ill follow.

Poppy hesitated only a heartbeat before clambering onto the makeshift rope. As the door began to open, she slipped and landed on the grass, rolling as Id instructed. She got up, thumb up.

No time to waste. Richard burst into the room. Without thinking, I grabbed the duvet and leapt, sliding down the fabric. My left ankle throbbed as I hit the ground, but adrenaline dulled the pain. Run! I shouted to Poppy. She sprinted down the back garden while I hauled myself up, my hand grabbing the railing as Richard barked, Helen!

We fled across the garden, limping toward the low wall that bordered the street. Guests shouts and doors slamming echoed behind us; Richard had alerted everyone, turning our escape into a public spectacle.

We ducked into a nearby woodland reserve. The photos, I reminded Poppy, do you still have them? She nodded, pulling her phone out. The images showed the unlabelled amber bottle and a handwritten schedule: 10:30 guests arrive, 11:45 serve tea, effects in 1520 minutes, call an ambulance at 12:10. It was a chilling blueprint of my death.

We heard police sirens in the distance. Lets go, I urged, spotting a service gate. Poppy handed me her access card; I swiped it, the green light flickered, and the gate clicked open.

We emerged onto a quiet side street, flagged down a taxi, and drove to the Crestview Shopping Centre, a bustling mall where we could blend in. In a corner café we sat, I checking my phone. Missed calls and messages from Richard flooded in. The last one read, Helen, please come home. Im worried. Lets talk. I love you. The words felt like a lie I could no longer swallow.

Another message appeared: I called the police. Theyre looking for you. Think of Sarah. My blood ran cold. It was a trap to frame us.

Two uniformed officers entered the café. Mrs. Helen Mitchell? one asked. Your husband reported you left the house under the influence of something, endangering his daughter.

Before I could answer, Poppy leapt up. Thats false! My stepfather is trying to murder us! We have proof!In the end, the police arrested Richard, and we learned that listening to a child’s courage can save a life.