I came home smiling, hoping to surprise my parents. But when I opened the door, I found them lying motionless on the floor. Doctors later said something harmful had been put in their food. One week later, my husband discovered something that made my entire body go cold.

Nothing.

I knocked harder.

“Mom? Dad? It’s me.”

Still nothing.

When I unlocked the door, stale air rushed toward me. The living room lamp was still on, spilling weak yellow light across the carpet.

Then I saw them.

My mother was lying near the coffee table. My father was beside the couch, his glasses crooked on his face.

For a moment, my mind refused to understand.

The grocery bag slipped from my hand. Grapes scattered across the floor.

“Mom?”

My voice sounded thin and strange.

I dropped beside her and touched her cheek. She was cold, but still alive. I turned to my father and searched for a pulse.

There it was.

Weak.

Barely there.

My hands shook so hard I could hardly call 911. While the dispatcher spoke, I looked around the room. Two mugs sat on the coffee table. A spoon lay on the carpet. My father’s pill organizer was open. A folded receipt rested near the couch.

I touched nothing except my parents.