When the paramedics arrived, everything happened in a blur. They rushed inside with stretchers and medical bags, checking our vitals, asking rapid-fire questions I could barely process. The dizziness hit in violent waves, but I stayed awake long enough to see flashing lights reflect against the living room walls.
“Blood pressure’s dropping—get an IV in now,” one paramedic said as they lifted Ethan.
I reached for him. “Stay with me, baby.”
He nodded faintly, then his head lolled to the side.
They transported us to St. Vincent’s Hospital. In the ambulance, I kept slipping in and out of consciousness, but the paramedic reassured me, “You’re lucky you called when you did.”
Lucky.
If Marcus hadn’t believed we were unconscious… if he’d stayed longer…
I might never have dialed.
At the hospital, toxicology ran tests on our blood. When Dr. Patel walked in, his face was grave.
“You both ingested a toxic dose of ethylene glycol,” he said.
Antifreeze.
I felt sick. “You’re saying my husband poisoned us?”
“It appears so. And intentionally.”
I broke down. Ethan, lying in the next bed, reached for my hand again.
The next person to walk in was Detective Laura Keegan from the Portland Police Bureau. She sat across from me, her notebook open.
“Mrs. Hendricks,” she began, “your call saved your life and your son’s. We have officers at your home now. Your husband is gone.”
“Gone… where?” I whispered.
She hesitated. “His car is missing. We’re treating him as a fugitive. But we did find something concerning.”
She placed a photo on the bedside table.
It was a picture of a woman. Mid-thirties. Pretty. Dark hair.
“I don’t know her,” I said immediately.
“Her name is Marissa Hale. She works with your husband at the insurance firm. She’s also missing.”
The word missing sent a chill through my bones.
Detective Keegan leaned forward. “We think Marcus had a relationship with her. We also found messages between them. They mentioned starting over. But…” She paused carefully. “They discussed money too.”
“Money?” I frowned.
She pulled out a second folder. “Your husband increased your life insurance policy three months ago. He doubled your son’s as well. Without your signature.”
My stomach twisted. “That’s illegal.”
“Yes,” she said. “But forgery is the least of his charges now.”
She explained that Marcus had taken out loans under my name, opened credit cards, and drained two of our joint accounts. I couldn’t process it fast enough. It felt like every piece of my life had been built on lies.
“How long…?” I whispered.
“We believe the affair began at least a year ago. The financial fraud started six months ago. The poisoning was the final step.”
I stared at the ceiling, unable to breathe. “He wanted to erase us.”
Detective Keegan softened her voice. “He didn’t expect you to survive. But you did. And now we’re going to find him.”
I nodded, gripping Ethan’s hand tighter.
I wasn’t just fighting for survival anymore.
I was fighting for justice.
The next 48 hours were a whirlwind. Police released a statewide alert with Marcus’s photo. Friends called nonstop, shocked and horrified. Ethan’s condition stabilized, but he refused to sleep unless I was in the room.
I didn’t blame him. Every time I closed my own eyes, I saw Marcus standing in the kitchen doorway, whispering, “They’ll both be gone soon.”
Detective Keegan visited us again with updates.
“Your husband’s car was spotted near the Washington border,” she said. “But we also found something else at your house.”
She handed me a small recording device.
My blood ran cold.
“He was recording us?” I whispered.
“Every conversation. For months.”
The detective explained that Marcus and Marissa had planned to flee to Idaho, where she had family. The poisoning was scheduled for that night. They had even bought bus tickets under fake names.
But the biggest twist came when the detective added, “Marissa may not be helping him willingly. We found messages where she tried to end things. He threatened her.”
A surge of anger replaced some of my fear. He hadn’t just tried to destroy us—he’d been manipulating her too.
Late the next evening, while sitting beside Ethan’s bed watching cartoons, my phone buzzed. Detective Keegan again.
“We found him.”
My breath caught. “Where?”
“An abandoned cabin outside Yakima. Marissa was with him. Officers are detaining both now. We’ll know more soon.”
When she arrived at the hospital an hour later, she brought details I never expected.
“Marissa told us everything,” the detective said. “Your husband convinced her that you were abusive, that you were planning to take Ethan away, that he needed to ‘protect’ his son. She only realized the truth when you and Ethan were hospitalized.”
“Is she being charged?” I asked.
“A few charges may apply,” Keegan said carefully, “but she wasn’t involved in the poisoning. In fact… she’s the one who called us.”
My eyes widened. “What?”
“She saw your husband’s abandoned car near the cabin and realized something was wrong. When officers arrived, Marcus tried to run. Marissa flagged them down.”
I didn’t know how to feel. Betrayed. Grateful. Angry. All at once.
Two days later, Marcus was officially charged with attempted murder, aggravated assault, fraud, identity theft, and child endangerment.
When they asked if I wanted to attend the arraignment, I said no. I never wanted to see him again.
Instead, I focused on Ethan. His recovery. His safety. His future.
One night, as I tucked him into his hospital bed, he whispered, “Mom… do you think Dad ever loved us?”
The truth would hurt him more than help him.
So I said, “I love you enough for both of us. That’s what matters now.”
A month later, we moved into a smaller apartment closer to my sister’s home in Beaverton. I found a therapist for both of us, and slowly—painfully—we began rebuilding.
And though the scars would always remain, one thing became clear:
We survived because we trusted each other.
And because for the first time in years… I finally listened to my instincts.
