Arsenic is a slow poison.
Yes, one potentially one could kill another quickly if they made him ingest the poison in great quantity, but the results would be obvious, and the blame would easily fall on whoever cooked the meal.
A woman who finds hope in a few teaspoons a day in their husband's favourite soup is patient. Ready to endure mistreatment for a little while longer. All while they witness the slow decay. A weird illness that - careful, everyone - could be contagious.
To everyone else, the women becomes the dutiful wife as their husband's sunken cheeks, their throat burns from constant vomiting and their heart whistles. What a good wife to stay by their husband's side as they die from this tragic illness.
But when their husband becomes to weak to speak, and they look at their wife's smile - lips that might have been bruised by their own fist before - they suddenly know.
And it is too late.
Arsenic is a slow poison, and a mistreated wife is a patient women.
{A little something I wrote for fun.}
