It started slowly, a resentment that built up slowly over time until it was an invisible festering wound that consumed Ivan as he watched his wife, Aliyah, achieve every goal she set, picking up various accolades along the way.

She was incredible; that’s what everyone said, that’s what he used to say. Ivan wasn’t sure when it had happened, only that one day she came waltzing through the door, laptop bag and handbag slung over one arm, a brown bag emblazoned with the name of their favourite restaurant bearing a take-out dinner clutched in the other, a big smile on her face, announcing to him that she’d made partner in her law firm; and he knew that he hated her. That night he made up his mind to get rid of her. But he wasn’t a murderer, so he’d have to be cunning. A tiny smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, he had plenty of cunning.

“What’s that noise?” Aliyah came into the living room, her pretty eyes flashing with irritation, “Well?” she added, as Ivan continued to flip lethargically through the weekend newspaper.

“What?” he looked up nonchalantly, his face a mask of boredom.

“That noise!” Aliyah threw her hands up, unable to pinpoint the source of the sound she was so clearly hearing, “Can’t you hear that?!”

Ivan lowered his paper and scrutinised her before saying in a droll voice, “Nope, the only thing I hear is you.”

Aliyah sighed exasperatedly, she could definitely hear something, but Ivan was already staring at his paper once more and she was starting to feel foolish. So she retreated upstairs, where she proceeded to stuff ear-plugs into her ears and attempt to finish a document she was working on. Downstairs, Ivan pulled out a speaker that was hissing a continuous stream of ingratiating white noise from under his chair, turned the volume up higher and smiled maliciously.

Months passed and Ivan’s tricks grew bolder and more outrageous, as Aliyah grew more and more convinced she was losing her mind. Ivan stalked her around the house, opening cupboards and doors she’d just closed, re-arranging items in her drawers, hiding her keys in random places like the kitchen cupboards; he emptied her water bottle right after she filled it and added a mild laxative to her morning coffee. He was careful, meticulous. She never saw him anywhere in the vicinity of the crime, so Aliyah grew irritable, worried, frustrated with herself. She became a rubber band stretched so tight that at the smallest amount of tension, she would snap.

“She’s a bit jumpy these days,” a friend, family member or one of her colleagues would say in an offhand manner to Ivan, who would shake his head sadly and reply in a low voice.

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s work stress.”

One rainy afternoon, as thick heavy clouds drifted lazily across a dark sky unleashing torrents of water as they did, Aliyah found herself staring into the kindly eyes of her firm’s human resources department head.

“You seem distracted these days,” the small woman with wrinkles around her mouth was saying softly, “Maybe you’re taking on too much?”

“It’s not that,” Aliyah shook her head and weighed whether she should be honest or lie, after all, everyone she’d spoken to frankly had given her a look she didn’t like, pitying, worried, “It’s…” she hesitated then the words fell, pouring like the rain that was soaking the earth outside, “Things keep happening, I hear noises sometimes, I can’t find things where I left them,” she was getting worked up now, “I fill a glass and before I take a sip, it’s half empty!”

It was a short conversation and Aliyah left the HR department clutching a white slip in her knuckles which were the same colour as the paper. She’d been suspended, pending a psychiatric evaluation.

“Don’t worry so much honey,” Ivan was fluffing pillows on the couch. It was the day of her evaluation and he’d had his white noise going all morning, so that Aliyah stalked round the living room, her nerves so frayed she jumped when the doorbell rang. But the psychiatrist was friendly and soon set her at ease, and she found herself talking familiarly with the elderly gentleman, leaving Ivan to set a tray of tea for them.

“Ugh,” Aliyah wrinkled her nose as soon as she sipped her tea, “What’s in that?!”

Both men looked at her in surprise. The tea was delicious, spiced and fragrant.

“The tea is fine,” the psychiatrist started tentatively.

“No,” Aliyah was immediately upset, she’d been on edge so long, she couldn’t help but snap, “It smells fishy…taste mine,” she proffered her cup to him; she was not crazy.

The elderly man was uncomfortable but he wanted to indulge her. He wasn’t going to sip from the same cup and so using his teaspoon, he scooped some tea from her cup and tasted it; and so missed the strong fishy odour emanating from the rim of her cup, where Ivan had smeared some cod liver oil. The tea was delicious, and the eyes he raised to meet her expectant ones were full of pity. He’d have to report she wasn’t in her right mind. Neither of them noticed Ivan, sitting quietly, a tiny smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.