Alexandru stopped the recording, a cold shiver running through his entire body. With trembling fingers, he rewound the video and watched again the scene he had just witnessed.
There was no doubt: his mother was adding an unknown substance to his medication—something no doctor had ever prescribed.
Day after day, Alexandru continued gathering evidence, recording every morning as his mother prepared his pills.
The routine was always the same: prescribed tablets, followed by the mysterious powder from a small white envelope.
His nights became restless, filled with unanswered questions and chilling possibilities.
One afternoon, while Irina was at work, Alexandru took the opportunity to search his mother’s bedroom. He knew it was wrong, but the need to uncover the truth outweighed his guilt.
After several minutes of searching, he found a locked box under the bed. Using a hairpin, he forced it open.
Inside, he discovered medical reports—his own medical records.
With shaking hands, he flipped through the pages: “Munchausen syndrome by proxy,” “Patient healthy, no detectable heart disease,” “Suspicion of chronic poisoning.”
The documents came from different hospitals across the country, all dated within the last five years. Yet, he had never seen any of them before.
At the bottom of the box, he found a diary. Opening it, he recognized his mother’s neat handwriting:
“March 15. Sasha turned 15 today. Increased the dosage. Doctors are starting to ask questions. Must change clinics again. Can’t lose him. Never.”
“July 7. Had a panic attack when Sasha said he wanted to study in another city. Convinced him his health won’t allow living alone. He seemed to believe me.”
“November 22. Sasha is becoming more independent. Afraid he’ll realize he doesn’t need me. Must find a permanent solution.”
Alexandru closed the diary, stunned. His entire life had been a lie. He wasn’t sick. His mother was slowly poisoning him to keep him dependent.
Munchausen syndrome by proxy… The term sounded familiar, like something from a documentary—parents making their children ill for attention and sympathy.
Hands still trembling, he photographed the documents and carefully returned everything to the box as he had found it.
He went back to his room and sat in silence, staring into space, trying to process the horror of his discovery.
That evening, during dinner, his mother seemed more anxious than usual.
“Sasha, you don’t look well,” she said, touching his forehead. “Maybe I should increase your medication dosage.”
Alexandru forced a smile. “No, Mom, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”
“Are you sure? You know your heart isn’t strong. You should rest.”
“Yes, Mom. I’ll go to bed early tonight.”
But instead of sleeping, Alexandru spent the whole night planning. He couldn’t confront her directly—not knowing how she would react. He needed to be careful.
The next morning, Alexandru pretended to take his medication but secretly hid the pills under his tongue and discarded them at the earliest chance. Over the following days, he feigned the effects of a lower dose—more energy, clearer mind.
“Mom,” he said one night, “I’ve been feeling really good lately. Maybe the medicine is finally working.”
Irina looked at him suspiciously. “Oh, really? That’s good to hear.”
“Actually, I was thinking… maybe I should get a check-up. See if my heart has improved. Maybe someday I won’t need the medication.”
Irina’s face changed instantly—panic and anger flashing briefly before she masked it.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sasha. Your doctor said it’s chronic. We can’t risk a heart attack, right?”
“But there might be new treatments,” he insisted. “I haven’t seen a specialist in years.”
“No!” she snapped, then immediately softened her voice. “I mean… not yet. Let’s wait a little longer.”
Alexandru nodded, pretending to give in, but his plan was already in motion. Secretly, he had arranged an appointment with a doctor in a nearby city and sent a sample of his “medication” for lab analysis.
A week later, the results arrived. The pills contained mild sedatives and a small amount of arsenic—not enough to kill, but enough to weaken and keep him dependent.
With the proof in hand, Alexandru went to the police. At first, officers were skeptical, but the recordings, diary, and lab tests were enough to open an investigation.
One quiet morning, while Irina was preparing breakfast, the doorbell rang. When she opened, two police officers stood at the threshold.
“Mrs. Irina Popescu? You are under arrest for attempted murder, child abuse, and administering toxic substances.”
Irina turned to Alexandru, pale but resolute in the kitchen doorway.
“Sasha? What have you done?” she whispered tearfully. “You don’t understand… I did it out of love. I needed you… I needed you close.”
As they led her to the patrol car, Alexandru remained at the door, overwhelmed by a strange mix of pain, relief, and guilt.
“I’ll visit you,” he shouted, unsure if it was out of duty or the love he still felt despite everything.
Irina looked back at him one last time. “You’ll see, Sasha. Without me, you’ll fall apart. You’ll need me again.”
The car door shut, leaving Alexandru alone—ready to face a new life: one without pills, lies, or fear. A life that was finally his own.
In the following weeks, he began to experience unfamiliar sensations: the freedom to eat what he wanted, to go where he pleased, to make choices without fearing the “consequences” for his health.
Therapy helped him understand he was not to blame for his mother’s actions.
She was the one who was sick—not him. And while Irina awaited trial, Alexandru began building his own life—one based on truth, not manipulation disguised as love.
And maybe one day, he could forgive her. Not for her sake—but for his own freedom.
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