Time seemed to stretch on indefinitely as I watched Floyd Wilkinson age in an instant.

Gone was his previous composure, replaced by a disheveled appearance, a far cry from the man I fell in love with.

Charged with premeditated murder and incited to buy poison, regardless of whether my family consumed it, he was already a criminal.

"Inmate 307, someone is here to see you," a female officer announced coldly, leading Floyd Wilkinson out in a daze.

It was my brother.

I hadn't seen him in a long time, but from the snippets of police conversation, I gathered that the poison hadn't affected my family.

That was the best outcome...