I SAW MARTHA SMILE WHEN I DRANK THE COFFEE SHE MADE THIS MORNING
I was halfway through my first cup of the day when I saw the faint, greasy residue inside the pot. A metallic, chemical smell curled up from the brew, battling the usual rich coffee aroma. My mouth felt weird, tingly and dry all at once, and my stomach started a slow, sickening churn.
I dumped the mug in the sink, the porcelain clinking sharply, and went straight to the breakroom fridge, my heart pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird. My hand shook on the cold metal handle as I pulled open the door and saw it — a small, dark plastic bottle, tucked carefully behind the milk carton, almost hidden. “Oh my god,” I whispered aloud, though no one was there.
It was the same bottle I’d seen Martha carrying yesterday, half-hidden in her bag. The one clearly labeled “Industrial Cleaner – Not For Consumption.” She smiled at me strangely earlier today, almost a smirk, when I poured my coffee.
It couldn’t possibly be what I thought. Why would anyone? Before I could even fully process the cold fear gripping me, the breakroom door swung open with a jarring sound, and Mark walked in, whistling a cheerful tune.
Mark saw me standing there, the bottle in my hand, and his face went white.
👇 Full story continued in the comments…Mark stumbled back, bumping against the doorframe. “What…? Why do you have that?” His voice was hoarse, eyes wide with a terror that mirrored my own but seemed to stem from a deeper source.
“I… I found it,” I stammered, my hand shaking harder now. The metallic taste was stronger, and my stomach cramped sharply. “It was behind the milk. And Martha… she had it yesterday. And the coffee… Mark, the coffee tasted *wrong*.”
Mark didn’t look at the bottle; his gaze was fixed on my face, then flicked towards the coffee pot still sitting on the counter. “The coffee…” he whispered, his face paling further. “Oh god, the coffee pot.”
He rushed past me, fumbling with the handle of the coffee machine. He pulled the pot out, peering inside, then sniffed the remaining liquid. He recoiled instantly. “No, no, no,” he muttered, shaking his head frantically. “It wasn’t supposed to… I told her…”
“Told her what?” My vision was starting to blur slightly at the edges, a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead. “What are you talking about, Mark? Did Martha… did she put this in the coffee?”
He finally looked at me, his eyes pleading. “No! Not exactly. Look, we were trying to deep clean the machine last night. It’s been smelling weird for days. Martha bought that special cleaner – strong stuff, obviously. We used it, rinsed it out… or we *thought* we did. We left the bottle in the fridge to keep it away from everything else while we finished.”
“But the coffee… the taste…” I pressed, gripping the cleaner bottle like a lifeline, or perhaps proof.
“The final rinse!” Mark practically shouted, running a hand through his hair. “We used one of the big jugs for the final rinse water… but maybe there was still residue in the pot… or… Oh god, Martha said she filled the machine reservoir this morning… she must have used the wrong jug! The cleaner must have been in the rinse jug, and she used *that* water for the coffee!”
He was rambling, panicked, but it fit. The hidden bottle, Martha’s strange smile (maybe she saw the coffee being poured and realized the mistake immediately after, but panicked?). Mark’s face going white – guilt over the botched cleaning or panic over realizing the extent of the error.
My legs felt weak. I sank onto the nearest chair, the cleaner bottle clattering to the floor. “I drank it, Mark. I drank the coffee.”
Mark was instantly by my side, grabbing his phone. “Okay, okay. Don’t panic. How much? When? We need to call poison control. Or an ambulance. You need to go to the hospital *now*.”
He was already dialing as I doubled over, a wave of nausea overcoming me. The tingly, dry mouth was now burning. Martha’s smile flashed in my mind – not a smirk, maybe, but a look of pure, horrified realization as she watched me pour the tainted brew. She hadn’t stopped me. Why hadn’t she stopped me?
***
Mark spoke rapidly into the phone, describing the cleaner, the amount of coffee I’d consumed, my symptoms. My stomach continued to knot, a painful, churning agony. The room spun slightly. Mark hung up, his face still pale but now etched with determination. “They’re sending an ambulance. Don’t move. Just… just try to stay calm.”
Other colleagues started arriving, drawn by the commotion and Mark’s urgent tone. The sight of me hunched over, pale and sweating, the fallen bottle visible near my feet, caused gasps and shouts. Someone saw the label and cried out. Martha appeared at the breakroom door, her eyes wide with terror, fixed on me. Her face wasn’t smug; it was a mask of pure horror and guilt, confirming Mark’s frantic explanation. She had seen the mistake, perhaps, seen me drink it, and frozen in panic or disbelief.
The ambulance arrived quickly. As the paramedics checked my vitals and helped me onto the stretcher, Martha rushed forward, tears streaming down her face. “I’m so sorry,” she choked out, reaching a trembling hand towards me. “I didn’t… I didn’t think… I saw you and I just froze.”
I couldn’t speak, the burning in my throat too intense, but I nodded, understanding clicking into place amidst the fear. It wasn’t malice, but a catastrophic, horrifying accident compounded by panic.
At the hospital, they pumped my stomach and monitored me. The cleaner was diluted by the coffee, preventing the worst effects, but I spent two days recovering from the chemical irritation and shock. The incident became a cautionary tale at the office. The coffee machine was replaced, the breakroom cleaning protocols were drastically changed, and the cleaner was locked away safely. Martha and Mark were suspended pending an investigation, though it seemed clear it was negligence, not intent. Martha visited me in the hospital, still wracked with guilt. We talked, and while the betrayal of her inaction lingered, the horror on her face that day felt genuine. It was a terrible mistake, a horrifying accident that nearly cost me dearly, but it wasn’t the cold, calculated act of poisoning I had initially feared. I survived, the office learned a terrifying lesson, and the simple act of pouring a morning coffee would never feel quite the same again.