Chapter 2

All the pain and agony disappeared in an instant.

I floated up to the ceiling, looking down at my own body on the bed.

That "Hazel" was lying there with her head tilted to the side.

Her face was swollen like a balloon.

Her lips were blue.

Her arms were covered in red rashes.

My phone lay on the floor, the screen still glowing.

My search history was stuck on the last thing I looked up before I died:

"First aid for anaphylactic shock from mango allergy."

I floated out of the room.

Right through the tightly shut door—the door that nobody had bothered to knock on.

In the living room, Ethan was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone.

The coffee table was covered in half-eaten food.

Beer, chicken wings, chips, and half a pizza.

There was also a half-finished drink sitting right on the edge of the table.

Ethan hadn't cleaned it up.

He didn't know that I would never drink that cup again.

Chloe sat on the armchair next to him, her legs crossed, scrolling through her phone.

The TV was replaying the goal from earlier.

"Is Hazel still not coming out?"

Ethan didn't even look up. He just asked casually.

"It's all my fault. I shouldn't have messed with her cup."

Chloe kept her eyes on her screen, her thumb swiping up.

"I just wanted to make her a nice drink. I didn't think she'd get this mad."

"Well, it's not like it's a big deal, but you know she's allergic to mangoes."

Ethan's tone was incredibly flat.

No worry. No urgency.

It was like he was saying, "The weather is a bit cloudy today."

"Does she hate me? Ever since I came back, I feel like she's had an issue with me."

Chloe’s voice sounded a little sad.

"Back when it was just the two of us, things were so easy. Now, I don't even know what to do to make her happy."

Watching them, I wanted to laugh.

Chloe was trying to be careful?

The first time she came to our house after she returned, she filled my expensive skincare bottles with tap water. When I caught her, she just laughed and said she was "testing if they were real."

At the party, she swap-tricked my cocktail with straight tequila, making me embarrass myself in front of everyone. She laughed louder than anyone else.

But what broke my heart the most wasn't Chloe.

It was Ethan’s attitude.

Before Chloe came back, we were so happy.

He remembered every single food I loved. He would park outside my office building on rainy days to wait for me. He would cook hot soup and bring it to my study when I worked late.

Back then, I thought marrying him was the luckiest thing that had ever happened to me.

But the moment Chloe returned, everything changed.

He started talking about her constantly. He talked about how cute she was when they were kids, how close they used to be.

He took her out to dinner more times than he took me.

The way he looked at her was so much gentler than the way he looked at me.

He kept saying they were just childhood friends. But he never told me why childhood friends spoke to each other in that intimate tone.

He stopped remembering what I liked to eat.

He stopped waiting for me after work.

He stopped cooking soup for me.

He even started to find me annoying. He said I was making a mountain out of a molehill. He said I was being dramatic.

I wasn't being dramatic.

I was terrified.

I was terrified that there was no room left for me in his eyes.

"Alright, I'll go check on her."

Ethan finally put his phone down and stood up from the couch.

I followed him back to my bedroom door.

Ethan pushed the door open just a crack.

The room was pitch black. The curtains were drawn.

He saw a curled-up figure on the bed.

"Hazel, are you coming out or what?"

I didn't move.

I was already dead.

"Fine, stop pretending."

Ethan's voice grew even more impatient.

"If you don't want to come out, I don't care. Clean the guest room yourself."

He waited for a few seconds.

The bed remained completely still.

"Unbelievable."

Ethan slammed the door shut.

His footsteps faded away.

He left.

He didn't even step into the room.

He didn't turn on the light to look at my face.

If he had, he would have seen my blue lips.

He would have realized my hands were ice cold.

But he just stood at the door.

A few feet away.

Said a few words.

And walked away.

I floated in the living room.

Staring at that closed door.

"Ethan, why isn't she out yet?"

Chloe finished her last slice of pizza, her lips greasy.

She glanced at the tightly shut bedroom door.

"Who knows? She's just throwing another tantrum."

Ethan was cleaning up the coffee table.

He threw the leftovers into the trash can.

He picked up my drink, looked at it for a second.

He hesitated.

Then he poured it down the sink.

"Is she still mad at me?"

Chloe's tone sounded a little anxious now.

"I really only added a tiny bit to give it some flavor... I didn't know it would turn out like this."

"It's fine. But you know she's allergic to mangoes."

Ethan stacked the cups and brought them to the kitchen.

"Don't do that again next time."

Just that one sentence.

No anger.

No lecture.

He didn't tell her, "You almost killed my wife."

Just a casual, light, "Don't do that again next time."

The same way he would tell someone, "Don't leave your socks on the couch next time."

I watched them.

I felt a sharp ache in my chest.

Even though I was dead and my heart had stopped beating.

Why did it still hurt so much?