That was why I'd developed depression. Why I'd slashed my wrists over and over, why I'd stood on the terrace more times than I could count, imagining I was a butterfly with wings, ready to fly off the edge.
If the housekeeper hadn't pulled me back in time, I'd already be six feet under with a smile frozen on my face.
"Iris, what are you thinking about? Why aren't you drinking?"
Everard frowned when he noticed my silence, his face the picture of concern.
"I don't want to drink it."
I shook my head, but he just sighed, sat down beside me, and coaxed me in that low, gentle voice of his.
"Come on, be good. The doctor said your depressive episodes are caused by a vitamin deficiency, remember? This juice will help."
I tilted my head up to look at him.
"Do I have to?"
Everard smiled down at me, and I knew he wasn't giving me a choice.
I lowered my head, let out a small laugh, then took the glass and drained it in one go.
He rubbed the top of my head, satisfied. "Get some rest. I'm going to finish up some work in the study, and I'll come to bed soon."
I watched his retreating figure.