Chapter 3

By the time the ambulance arrived, I could no longer form full sentences.

My throat was closing up fast, my breathing turning into shallow, agonizing wheezes.

Hives spread aggressively from my arms to my neck and face, burning like thousands of fire ants crawling beneath my skin.

As the paramedics lifted my stretcher, I heard the dispatch radio.

"Female, twenty-six, acute allergic reaction, widespread urticaria, suspected laryngeal edema. ETA ten minutes."

I closed my eyes on the gurney, thinking: At least I'm still conscious.

At least I'm still alive.

At the ER, the medical staff immediately slapped an oxygen mask over my face and started an IV drip with epinephrine and steroids.

Lying on the gurney in the resuscitation bay, I stared up at the blinding white lights.

They were just as harsh and sterile as the ones in the operating room that morning.

In a single day, I had ended up on a hospital bed twice.

Once, to let go of my unborn child.

The second time, nearly losing my own life.

Once the allergic reaction was finally brought under control, the attending physician came over for rounds.

He flipped through my chart, his expression grim.

"Your allergy is extremely severe. If you had arrived thirty minutes later, your airway would have closed entirely. You were on the verge of anaphylactic shock and suffocation."

I gave a faint nod, too weak to speak.

The doctor added, "Where is your family? Why are you completely on your own?"

"He's busy."

The exact same words I had told the nurse that morning.

The doctor glanced at me with quiet pity, didn't pry any further, and scribbled "Admit for 6 hours observation" on my chart.

The ward was dead quiet, save for the rhythmic snoring of an elderly woman in the next bed.

I watched the IV fluid drip down drop by drop. Suddenly, my phone vibrated.

It was Ethan.

I swiped to answer.

"Chloe, where the hell are you? Why haven't you made dinner?"

There wasn't a trace of worry in his voice—only arrogant entitlement.

"I'm at the hospital."

"Hospital? What drama are you pulling now?"

"Severe mango allergy."

Silence hung on the line for two seconds.

Then Nicole's voice drifted through the speaker, carefully calculated to sound just close enough to be heard.

"Ethan, could Chloe be blaming that cake? But honestly, ingesting it really shouldn't cause a reaction..."

Her tone was thick with wounded innocence, painting herself as the true victim.

Ethan's voice instantly turned cold and hostile.

"Chloe, did you do this on purpose?"

"What?"

"Nicole told you it wouldn't happen, and suddenly you're conveniently allergic?"

"Are you staging this pathetic stunt just to force an apology out of me?"

My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned stark white.

"Ethan, the ER doctor said if I had arrived thirty minutes later, I would have gone into shock and died."

"Oh, cut the crap! It’s not that serious. Stop trying to manipulate me!"

Nicole's voice floated over again.

"Ethan, don't be too hard on Chloe. Maybe she's just fragile."

"I get it, though. She spends so much time home alone. Now that you're finally back, she just wants your attention."

Fragile.

Attention-seeking.

Playing the victim.

Every word stabbed like a poisoned needle, but I didn't even have the energy to hurt anymore.

Ethan sighed deeply, heavy with disgust.

"Chloe, that's enough."

"If you gave yourself an allergy, get it treated and drag yourself back home."

"Stop lying in a hospital bed playing the martyr. There's a mountain of chores waiting at home."

"I'm hanging up."

The line went dead.

I set the phone down by my pillow and stared blankly at the ceiling.

The elderly woman in the bed next to mine shifted, muttering under her breath, "Sweetheart... that man is no good for you."

The corner of my mouth twitched into a hollow smile. I said nothing.

By the time my six hours of observation were up, it was already 1:00 AM.

The doctor repeatedly warned me to rest, stay far away from allergens, and come back for a follow-up in a week.

I signed the discharge papers and called an Uber home alone.

When I reached the front door, I pressed the doorbell.

It took forever for the door to unlock.

Ethan stood there in his pajamas, hair messy, squinting with half-open eyes.

He shot me an annoyed glare and turned back inside.

"You're back? Done throwing your fit?"

I stood frozen in the entryway.

The guest room door was firmly shut. Nicole was clearly fast asleep inside.

Ethan walked over to the living room couch, flopped down, and checked his watch.

"It's past one in the morning. What more do you want from me?"

I walked over and stopped on the other side of the coffee table.

"Ethan, let's get a divorce."