Allergic to My Wife

"Quinn, aren't you afraid your husband will lose it if he ever finds out the truth?" One of the women let out a sharp laugh. The tip of her cigarette glowed between her fingers, flaring in the dim hospital corridor.

"Lose it? Please. He was born craving women. That night, I didn't even drug him, and he still managed to get what he wanted. He should be thanking me."

Quinn Rowan exhaled lazily, voice thick with contempt. "He had his fun all night, and I got exactly what I needed. I'd say that makes us even."

Another woman twirled the little bottle of liquid between her fingers, her smile dripping with mockery.

"Quinn, ever since you got married, this stuff has been mass-produced in the hospital. And your dear Noah still thinks you invented it just for him. God, that's hilarious."

"Right? As if Quinn has the time or energy to pamper him. He has no idea that Miles is the only one she actually cares about, the only man she's terrified of handling too roughly."

Their cackles exploded through the corridor, shrill and merciless.

I stood in the shadows, frozen from head to toe, every drop of blood inside me turning to ice.

Every accidental touch between Quinn and me had almost cost me my life.

Sometimes it was just red, itching welts. Other times, my breathing would crash, leaving me seconds away from asphyxiation and another emergency room visit.

Our families had been connected for generations. I had spent years blaming myself, believing I had failed as a husband.

Quinn had always soothed me with gentle words, telling me it was all right, that she understood.

So I forced myself to endure it, keeping the safest possible distance from my own wife.

Now I finally understood. Every moment and every inch of space between us existed because Quinn had been saving herself for Miles Jensen.

I was nothing more than a tool, the man fated to raise the child created by their love.

I could almost see Quinn's pregnant stomach in my mind, round and growing more obvious by the day. My gut twisted violently. I wanted to vomit up every drop of that so-called "tonic" she had made me drink over the years.

Around the corner, Quinn kept complaining to her friends, oblivious to me standing just a few steps away. "If I had found another way, I wouldn't have had to suffer through that night. Thinking about it now still disgusts me."

One of her friends burst out laughing. "Oh, I can imagine! Hahaha!"

More laughter followed, sounding sharp and mocking, cutting straight through me.

My tears broke loose without warning.

I should have seen this coming.

Quinn was a top physician. If she had wanted to cure my allergy, she would have done it long ago. There was no way she couldn't treat my condition.

I had simply been too naive.

I underestimated how deeply she pined for Miles, and how far she'd go for a man she could never openly have.

But why was I the one who had to endure all this?

Five years of a platonic marriage.

Five years of humiliation.

Friends whispering behind my back, mocking me as some useless man who couldn't even sleep with his own wife. A pathetic freeloader.

Quinn's parents never let me set foot into their family home.

"We gave you our daughter, but you can't even touch her and give us a grandchild. You're an embarrassment to the Rowan family!"

I swallowed every insult, dragged myself through those years like a man crawling through mud, hoping and praying that one day things would return to normal.

'Quinn, how the hell are you ever going to repay me for five years of real love?'

I didn’t have the strength to confront her. Not then. Not after all this.

Numb and barely conscious of my own body, I stumbled back toward my hospital room and pulled out my phone. My hands shook as I dialed a familiar number.

"Sylvia... hi. I need to ask about filing for divorce."