Alexandru paused the recording and felt an icy chill grip him. With trembling fingers, he rewound the video and watched the scene he had just witnessed again.
There was no doubt: his mother was adding an unknown substance to his medication. A substance no doctor had prescribed.
Day after day, Alexandru continued to collect evidence, filming his mother preparing his medication every morning.
The ritual always repeated itself in the same way: the prescribed pills, followed by the mysterious powder in a white envelope.
The nights seemed endless. He couldn’t sleep, his mind overwhelmed with unanswered questions and scenarios that made his blood run cold.
One afternoon, while Irina was at work, Alexandru took the opportunity to sneak into his mother’s bedroom. He knew his behavior was wrong, but the urge to find out the truth drove him stronger than guilt.
After several minutes of searching, he found a locked box under the bed. Using a hairpin, he picked the lock and opened it.
Inside, he found medical documents: his own medical record.
With trembling hands, he leafed through the papers, reading one by one: “Munchausen syndrome by proxy,” “Healthy patient, no detectable heart disease,” “Suspected chronic poisoning.”
These reports came from various hospitals across the country and were all dated within the last five years, yet he had never seen any of them.
At the bottom of the box, he found a diary. He opened it and began reading. He recognized his mother’s neat handwriting:
“March 15. Sascha turned 15 today. I increased the dosage. The doctors are starting to ask questions. We have to change clinics again. I can’t lose him. Never.”
July 7. Today I had a panic attack when Sascha said he wanted to study in another city. I was able to convince him that his health didn’t allow him to live alone. He seemed to believe me.
November 22. Sascha is becoming more and more independent. I’m afraid that one day he’ll realize he doesn’t need me. I need to find a permanent solution.”
Alexandru closed the diary, stunned. His whole life had been a lie. He didn’t have a heart condition. His mother was slowly poisoning him to keep him by her side, to make him dependent on her.
Munchausen syndrome by proxy… The term sounded vague to him, like something he’d seen in a documentary. Parents who make their children sick to get attention and sympathy.
With trembling hands, he photographed the documents and put them back in the box. He tried to leave everything as he’d found it.
Then he returned to his room, where he sat motionless, staring into space, trying to process everything he’d just discovered.
That evening, at dinner, his mother seemed more nervous 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. I’m just a little tired.”
“Are you sure? You know your heart isn’t very strong. You should rest.”
“Yes, Mom.” I’m going to bed early tonight.”
But instead of sleeping, Alexandru spent the whole night awake, hatching a plan. He couldn’t confront her directly; he didn’t know how she would react. He had to proceed cautiously.
The next morning, Alexandru pretended to take his medication as usual, but hid it under his tongue and discarded it as soon as he had the chance. In the days that followed, he began simulating the effects of a lower dose—more energy, greater mental clarity.
“Mom,” he said one evening, “I’ve been feeling really good lately. I think the medication is finally working.”
Irina eyed him suspiciously. “Oh, really? I’m glad to hear that.”
“Actually, I was thinking… maybe I should get checked out. To see if my heart has improved. Maybe one day I won’t need the medication anymore.”
Irina’s face changed suddenly, taking on an expression Alexandru had never seen before—a mixture of panic and anger that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sasha. Your doctor said it’s a chronic illness. We don’t want to risk a heart attack, do we?”
“But maybe there are new treatments,” he insisted. “I haven’t seen a specialist in years.”
“No!” she exclaimed, then immediately lowered her voice. “I mean… not yet. Let’s wait a bit.”
Alexandru nodded and pretended to give in, but his plan was already in motion. He had secretly made an appointment with a doctor in a neighboring town and sent a sample of his “medication” to a laboratory for analysis.
The results came back a week later. The pills contained a combination of mild sedatives and a substance that, over time, caused symptoms similar to heart disease.
The white powder his mother had added was a small dose of arsenic—not enough to kill him, but enough to weaken him and make him addicted.
With the evidence in hand, Alexandru went to the police. The officers were initially skeptical, but the notes, diary, and lab tests were enough to launch an investigation.
One quiet morning, as Irina was preparing breakfast, the doorbell rang. When she opened the door, two police officers were standing on the threshold.
“Ms. Irina Popescu? You’re under arrest for attempted murder, child abuse, and drug distribution.”
Irina turned to Alexandru, who stood pale but determined in the kitchen doorway.
“Sascha? What did you do?” she whispered, tears in her eyes. “You don’t understand… everything I did was out of love. I needed you… I needed you by my side.”
As they led her to the patrol car, Alexandru stood in the doorway—a strange mixture of pain, relief, and guilt.
“I’m coming to visit you,” he called, unsure whether he was doing it out of duty or out of the love that still smoldered within him despite everything.
Irina turned and looked at him one last time. “You’ll see, Sascha. Without me, you’ll collapse. You’ll need me again.”
The car door closed, and Alexandru was left alone—with a new life ahead of him: a life without pills, without lies, without fear. A life that was finally his.
In the weeks that followed, he experienced feelings that had previously been foreign to him: the freedom to eat what he wanted, to go out whenever he wanted, to make decisions without fearing the “consequences” for his health.
Therapy helped him understand that he shouldn’t feel guilty about his mother’s actions.
She was the sick one—not him. And while Irina awaited her trial, Alexandru began to build a life of his own—one based on truth, not manipulation disguised as love.
And perhaps one day he could forgive her. Not for her sake—but for himself. To be truly free.
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