Chapter 1

Ethan’s girl best friend, Chloe, loved playing "pranks."

The first time we met, she slipped a condom into my pocket and started a rumor that I was cheating on him.

At a friend's party, she sat right on Ethan's lap in front of my face, asking him who was sexier—her or me.

Every single time, I would get angry and confront Ethan. But after a while, Ethan stopped comforting me.

He impatiently told me to stop overthinking. He said I had no sense of humor. He told me to just "be the bigger person."

So today, when Ethan invited Chloe over to our house to watch the game, I didn't scream. I didn't question their relationship.

Even when they hugged each other, I just calmly sipped my juice.

But I never expected Chloe to sneak mango juice into my cup.

The one thing she knew I was deathly allergic to.

The moment I shut the bedroom door, my throat felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand.

I couldn't breathe.

Red hives erupted all over my skin.

I collapsed onto the bed. My phone screen was still glowing.

My search history was stuck on:

"Can a severe mango allergy kill you?"

Ethan’s voice came through the wooden door, sharp and demanding.

"Hazel, get out of the master bedroom. It's pouring rain outside, and Chloe is staying here tonight."

I didn't move.

It wasn't because I didn't want to.

It was because I couldn't.

My body felt like it was filled with lead. Every single muscle was burning hot.

I could feel my face swelling up.

My eyes were swollen shut, reduced to tiny slits.

My lips bloated like sausages. I couldn't open them, and I couldn't close them.

My throat felt like it was stuffed with burning hot coals.

Every breath felt like swallowing blades.

"Hazel, did you hear me? It's a storm out there, she can't drive home!"

Ethan yelled again.

Louder this time.

I could hear the anger in his voice.

He was losing his patience.

"Ethan, is she mad at me?"

Chloe's voice drifted in from the living room.

She giggled, sounding totally carefree, as if she were talking about some minor joke.

"I just added a little splash of mango juice to her cup. I wanted to play a little prank on her."

A little prank.

She said it so casually.

As if putting mango juice in the drink of someone with a severe allergy was just a fun little experiment. Like dropping Mentos into Coke.

"You knew Hazel was allergic to mangoes, and you still put it in?"

Ethan's voice didn't sound angry.

It sounded more like a weary sigh.

"I didn't know her allergy was *that* bad..."

Chloe whined, sounding hurt.

"I just wanted to add some flavor. I didn't want her to think the drink I made tasted bad."

"Alright, alright, that's enough. You did go a bit too far this time," Ethan cut her off.

"Hazel, Chloe knows she messed up. Stop throwing a tantrum. Pack your things and move to the guest room."

I didn't reply.

Not because I was throwing a tantrum.

But because I couldn't speak anymore.

My tongue was swollen.

My whole mouth was bursting with pressure.

I tried to open my mouth, but only a muffled whimper came out. Like a cat with its tail stepped on.

Ethan's voice turned harsh. "Hazel, can you not do this?"

After a moment of silence, he sighed and softened his tone. "...Fine, if you want to give me the silent treatment, cool down on your own. I'll come find you later."

Footsteps faded from the door.

The clinking of glasses came from the living room.

They went back to watching the game.

Just the two of them.

Without me.

I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

The crystal chandelier cast a shadow that looked like a butterfly.

I remembered when we were newly married. I couldn't sleep one night and pointed at the shadow, saying it looked like a butterfly. Ethan jumped out of bed, took a photo with his phone, and said he was going to brag to his friends about how creative his wife was.

Back then, he was willing to do anything with me.

But now?

Tears rolled down my swollen cheeks.

Breathing became harder and harder.

I could hear my own heartbeat.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Like someone knocking on a door that would never open.

The phone slipped from my hand.

I closed my eyes.

Whatever.

Let it be.

Nobody cared anyway.

Outside, the storm raged on, thunder rolling across the sky.

I wanted to go to the emergency room.

But in this weather, I couldn't get an Uber.

I couldn't even make it out the front door.

When my soul floated out of my body, my first thought was:

*So, this is what dying feels like.*