After three years of marriage, I finally got pregnant. I called to tell him. “Hey, come home early tonight. I have some amazing news.” Silence on the other end for a second. “I can’t make it tonight, Iris. Amber really wants some mango crepe cake, so I’m taking her to line up for it. After that, we’re going hiking to catch the sunrise.” “When I wanted to watch the sunrise, you told me it was a waste of time.” “Why do you always have to ruin the mood? She’s all by herself. I can’t just leave her alone, can I?” After he hung up, his childhood friend Amber sent me a text. “Hey babe, he belongs to me tonight. I’ll watch the sunrise for you.” I stared at the positive pregnancy test in my hand, two bright pink lines, and let out a soft laugh. Then, I texted her back: “He belongs to you forever now.” 1 After sending that message, I opened the hospital’s app and scheduled an abortion for the next morning. I didn’t sleep at all that night. I sat alone on the living room sofa, watching the sky fade from pitch black to a cold gray, and then to bright morning light. My phone stayed completely silent. Patrick was busy, of course. Busy chasing the sunrise with Amber. At eight the next morning, I arrived at the clinic right on time. I checked in, waited for my name, and signed the consent forms. The nurse looked at my paperwork and asked, “Is there no one here with you?” “He’s busy.” She didn’t press further, simply handing me a cup of warm water. The lights in the operating room were blindingly bright. The anesthesiologist told me to count down. I only made it to seven before slipping into the dark. When I woke up, I was lying in the recovery room. I stayed there for two hours. Not a single call came to ask where I was. Slowly, I sat up, pulled on my coat, and took a cab back home by myself. It was already two in the afternoon when I unlocked the front door. The sound of laughter drifted from the living room. Patrick and Amber were curled up on the sofa, with snacks and drinks scattered across the coffee table. They were looking at photos on a phone, laughing hysterically. “Look at this angle! The light hitting the clouds is absolutely stunning,” Amber purred, her voice dripping with sweetness. Patrick leaned toward her, a smile on his face that I hadn’t seen in ages. That was the smile that used to belong only to me. I stood by the entryway, changing my shoes, but neither of them noticed. It wasn’t until I walked over to the kitchen to pour a glass of water that Amber finally looked up. She stared at me for a moment, her eyes lingering on my pale face, and then she smiled. “Oh, you’re back! Where did you go today? You look terrible.” Patrick finally turned his head, his brow furrowing. “Where have you been? You could have at least called.” I didn’t answer. I took my glass and sat down at the dining table. Amber spoke up again. “Are you mad at us for watching the sunrise last night?” My hand tightened around the glass. Patrick’s expression hardened as he glared at me. “Iris, seriously? It was just a sunrise. Who are you throwing a tantrum for?” I looked up at him. There was no concern in his eyes, no guilt, only pure irritation. “I’m not throwing a tantrum.” “Then why do you look like someone died?” “Amber finally had a good day, and you have to ruin it?” Amber tugged gently on Patrick’s sleeve. “Patrick, don’t. She’s probably just tired.” That small gesture immediately softened Patrick’s tone. “You’re always so understanding.” He stood up and walked to the kitchen, retrieving a takeout box from the fridge. “By the way, I saved you a slice of that mango crepe cake from last night.” He pushed the box toward me like it was a grand gesture of charity. “Go ahead. The line was incredibly long.” I stared at the cake. The bright yellow mango slices peeked through layers of cream. “I’m not eating that.” “Why not? You love sweets.” “I’m allergic to mangoes.” A heavy silence filled the room. Patrick froze for a split second, but he quickly recovered his defensive frown. Amber tilted her head, a mock-puzzled expression on her face. “But sweetie, most people with mango allergies only break out if the juice touches their skin. Eating it is usually totally fine. I have a friend who gets a rash if she touches them, but she can eat mangoes all day without any issues.” Patrick nodded instantly, seizing her words. “See? Amber said it herself. You’re just being dramatic, dramatic about everything. Since when are you allergic to eating them? It’s just a slice of cake. What’s the worst that could happen?” 2 I looked at Amber. She offered me a sweet, almost imperceptible smirk. I set my glass down, my voice flat and calm. “I said no.” The smile vanished from Amber’s face. She lowered her head, her voice dropping to a whimper. “Are you mad at me, Iris? Is it because I went with him? I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have gone.” As she spoke, her eyes brimmed with tears. Patrick lost his temper immediately. “Look at what you’re doing! Amber is just trying to help, and you have to act like this?” He shoved the cake box right against my hands. “Eat it.” I didn’t move. “Iris, I told you to eat it. Didn’t you hear me?” I remained perfectly still. Patrick snapped. He snatched up the fork, scooped up a massive piece of the crepe cake, and forced it to my lips. “Open your mouth.” I jerked my head away, but the fork scraped against my cheek. The sticky cream and mango juice smeared onto my skin, and an instant, burning itch began to spread. Amber gasped softly. “Patrick, stop. If she doesn’t want it, don’t force her.” “No, she’s eating it today. She does this every single time, throwing a fit over nothing. I’m sick of pampering her.” He scooped another piece, pinched my jaw tight, and shoved it directly into my mouth. The sickly sweet taste of mango exploded on my tongue, and my stomach violently rebelled. I doubled over, gagging forcefully as tears sprang to my eyes. Amber stood up, looking utterly devastated. “Patrick, if she hates me that much, she could have just said so. Did she really have to humiliate me like this? I went out of my way to save that cake for her.” Patrick’s face darkened further. Watching me dry-heave, he felt no sympathy at all. He truly believed I was putting on a show. “Iris, you are going to finish this entire box today.” I propped myself up against the table, wiping the cream from my chin, my voice barely a whisper. “Patrick, you know I’m allergic.” “Amber said eating it is fine! You’re just being dramatic! Eat it now!” He forced the fork into my mouth, spoon after spoon. I thrashed against him, but he pinned me down, forcing me to swallow every single bite of the mango crepe cake. Once the box was empty, Patrick slammed it onto the table. “There. It’s done. Look at that, you’re perfectly fine. What was all that drama for?” He glanced at Amber. “I didn’t sleep well last night. Let’s go take a nap in the guest room.” Amber nodded obediently, following Patrick down the hall. I sat alone at the table, staring at the empty plastic container. Red hives were already blooming across my hands. My throat was starting to itch. I looked down at my phone. It was 2:45 PM. Slowly, I stood up, grabbed my bag, and walked out the door. As soon as I reached the street, I dialed 911. “I’m having a severe allergic reaction to mangoes. I need an ambulance.” “Ma’am, can you still breathe?” “Yes.” “Stay calm. The paramedics are on their way.” 3 By the time the ambulance arrived, I could no longer form words. My throat was constricting, and my breathing had become shallow and frantic. The hives had spread from my arms to my neck and face, itching so intensely it felt like millions of ants crawling under my skin. As the paramedics lifted me onto the gurney, I heard the radio crackle. “Female patient, twenty-six, severe mango allergy. Full-body urticaria, suspected laryngeal edema. ETA ten minutes.” I closed my eyes on the stretcher, thinking, at least I am still conscious. At least I am still alive. In the ER, the doctors immediately hooked me up to oxygen and started an IV. Lying on the hospital bed, I stared at the ceiling lights. They were just as harsh and white as the ones in the operating room this morning. Twice in one day, I had ended up on a medical table. First, to lose my baby. Second, to almost lose my life. Once the reaction was under control, the attending physician came to check on me. He flipped through my chart with a grim expression. “Your allergy to mangoes is severe. If you had arrived thirty minutes later, the swelling in your throat would have completely blocked your airway. You would have gone into anaphylactic shock, or worse, suffocated.” I nodded, unable to speak. The doctor looked around. “Where is your family? Why are you alone?” “He’s busy.” It was the exact same answer I gave the nurse that morning. The doctor gave me a long look, didn’t pry further, and wrote “hold for six hours of observation” on my file. The room was quiet. Only the faint snoring of the elderly lady in the next bed broke the silence. I watched the IV drip fall, drop by drop, when my phone suddenly vibrated. It was Patrick. I picked up. “Iris, where the hell are you? Why isn’t dinner ready?” His voice carried no warmth, only a harsh demand. “I’m at the hospital.” “The hospital? What did you do now?” “Mango allergy.” The line went silent for a moment. Then, Amber’s voice drifted through the receiver, loud enough for me to hear. “Patrick, is she blaming that piece of cake? But eating it doesn’t cause allergies…” She sounded so hurt, as if she were the victim here. Patrick’s tone shifted instantly. “Iris, are you doing this on purpose?” “What?” “Amber said eating it wouldn’t do anything, but suddenly you’re having an emergency? Are you trying to make me apologize to you?” My fingers tightened around the phone, turning my knuckles white. “Patrick, the doctor said if I had been thirty minutes later, I would have suffocated.” “Don’t exaggerate. Stop trying to manipulate me.” Amber’s voice floated over again. “Patrick, don’t be too hard on her. Maybe she’s just delicate. But then again, she’s home alone all the time. Now that you’re finally back, she probably just wants your attention.” Delicate. Attention-seeking. A cheap stunt. These words pierced through me like needles, but I didn’t even have the energy to feel the pain. Patrick sighed, his disgust palpable. “Iris, that’s enough. If you got sick from eating something, get it treated and come home. Stop lingering in the hospital to play the victim. There’s a house full of chores waiting for you. I’m hanging up.” The line went dead. I set the phone on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. The lady in the next bed rolled over, murmuring, “Sweetheart, your husband is a piece of work.” I offered a faint, bitter smile but said nothing. 4 By the time my six hours of observation ended, it was 1:00 AM. The doctor gave me strict instructions to rest, avoid any exposure to the allergen, and return in a week for a follow-up. I signed the discharge papers and took a cab home. Standing in front of the door, I rang the bell. It took a long time before the lock clicked. Patrick stood there in his pajamas, his hair messy, his eyes half-closed. He glanced at me, then turned around to walk back inside. “You’re back? Done throwing your fit?” I stood at the entryway, motionless. The guest room door was shut. Amber was likely asleep inside. Patrick walked into the living room, flopped onto the sofa, and checked the time on his phone. “It’s past one in the morning. What exactly do you want from me?” I walked over, standing on the other side of the coffee table. “Patrick, let’s get a divorce.” 5 He looked up at me, stunned. Then, he let out a scoffing laugh. “What did you just say?” “I said, I want a divorce.” “Iris, have you lost your mind? Over a slice of cake?” “It’s not about the cake.” “Then what? Because I didn’t let you watch the sunrise? Can you stop being so childish?” I stared at him. There was still no concern in his eyes. From the moment I walked through the door, he hadn’t asked if I was okay, or how my allergy was. He only thought I was acting out. “Tomorrow morning at ten. We’ll meet at city hall.” Patrick stood up, towering over me. “Do you honestly think that if you threaten divorce, I’ll beg you to stay?” “No.” “Then what do you want?” “I don’t want anything anymore.” Patrick’s face darkened completely. “Fine. You want to split? Let’s do it. I’m done coddling your miserable attitude.” “Ten o’clock tomorrow.” “Fine.” He turned to walk toward the bedroom, pausing at the threshold. “Iris, don’t you dare regret this.” I watched his back disappear into the room, the door shutting behind him. I stood in the silent living room. I didn’t cry. I didn’t shake. My heart was perfectly still, like a lake bed dried up by the wind. I walked into the study, opened the drawer, and gathered my ID, social security card, and marriage certificate. Then, I went to the closet, packing a few changes of clothes, my passport, and my credit cards. I packed everything into a single suitcase and zipped it shut. I took one last look at the house we had shared for three years. Then, I wheeled my suitcase out and quietly closed the door behind me. The next morning, I arrived at city hall at precisely 9:30 AM. The wait wasn’t long. I took a number and sat on a plastic chair in the lobby. At ten sharp, I checked my phone. No missed calls, no messages. By 10:30, still nothing. I called Patrick. It rang four times before he picked up. “Yeah?” “I’m at city hall. It’s past ten.” The sounds of a bustling shopping mall echoed in the background, along with Amber’s giggles. “Iris, what is this call supposed to mean?” “We agreed to sign the papers today.” “I’m out helping Amber pick out clothes for the new season. She doesn’t know how to shop for herself.” “You’ve had your little tantrum. Don’t push your luck.” “I’m not throwing a tantrum. I’ve been waiting for you for forty minutes.” “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Stop nagging. I’ll get there when I get there.” “Patrick, I will wait until noon. If you aren’t here, I’m filing a lawsuit.” The line went silent. “Are you threatening me?” “I’m informing you.” I hung up and continued to wait. 6 At 11:40 AM, hurried footsteps echoed near the entrance. Patrick pushed the doors open, with Amber following close behind, holding two shopping bags. His face was tense, sweat beading on his forehead. Amber, on the other hand, was wearing full makeup, a brand-new dress, and high heels. Patrick marched up to me. “Alright, I’m here. Are you happy now?” I stood up, handing our marriage certificate and IDs to the clerk at the desk. “We’re here to file for divorce.” Amber suddenly grabbed my arm. “Iris, have you really thought this through? You and Patrick have been together for so many years. You’re throwing it all away over a silly misunderstanding?” I pulled my arm away, looking at her coldly. “I’ve made up my mind.” “But Iris, Patrick really cares about you. Please, just sleep on it.” Her eyes welled with tears. Patrick added, “Amber is begging you, and you’re still doing this?” “I want the divorce.” Patrick’s jaw clenched. “Iris, is there someone else?” “No.” “Then you’re just out of your mind. Throwing away a perfectly good life to tear our home apart. Do you think you’ll find anyone better than me?” The clerk looked up, completely indifferent. “Is this divorce mutual and voluntary?” “Yes,” I said. Patrick gritted his teeth, taking a long moment before forcing the word out. “Yes.” The clerk asked a few quick questions about dividing our assets. I told her he could keep the house and the car. We would split the savings fifty-fifty. No objections. Patrick looked stunned, clearly not expecting me to walk away with so little. “You’re certainly eager to get rid of me.” “Yes.” We signed the papers, pressed our thumbs to the ink, and took our photos. The clerk handed us our final paperwork. It was a thin document, much lighter than a marriage certificate. I slipped my copy into my bag. Patrick clutched his copy, staring at it. Then, he let out a bitter sneer. “Iris, don’t you dare regret this. Without me, you’re absolutely nothing.” I didn’t argue. Because I knew, better than anyone, how wrong he was. I turned and walked toward the exit. Amber called out behind me, “Take care of yourself, Iris!” I didn’t look back. Outside city hall, the sunlight was blinding. I stood on the sidewalk for a moment, taking a deep breath of fresh air. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Amber. “Thanks for stepping aside, Iris. I’ll take good care of Patrick from now on.” I looked at the screen, my lips curling into a faint smile. I didn’t reply. I blocked the number and deleted the conversation. I returned to the house to pack the remaining things I hadn’t taken the night before. Patrick wasn’t home, probably out celebrating with Amber. Within two hours, I erased every single trace of my existence from that apartment. I left the keys on the shoe cabinet, pulled my suitcase behind me, and walked out. At eleven that night, I checked into a quiet boutique hotel. The girl at the front desk looked at me kindly. “Just for one, ma’am?” “Yes.” “How many nights?” “Just tonight.” She handed me the key card, and I thanked her. The room was small but spotless. I set my suitcase against the wall and sat on the edge of the bed. A notification popped up on my phone, a bank alert showing my balance. It was just enough to start over in another city. I turned off the lights and lay down. As I closed my eyes, my heart felt completely light. My three-year marriage was over. No tears, no regrets. Only a profound, beautiful sense of relief. I only learned about the events of that night much later, from Dr. Cooper. Dr. Cooper had been my classmate in college, and he was the physician who treated me in the ER that afternoon. He told me he knew it wasn’t his place to interfere, but when he saw Patrick, he couldn’t stay silent. That night, Amber had slipped on the stairs at Patrick’s apartment, twisting her ankle. Patrick rushed her to the emergency room. Dr. Cooper happened to be on the night shift. He watched Patrick walk in, supporting a weeping girl, and recognized him immediately. “Patrick? What are you doing here so late?” “Amber hurt her ankle. Can you take a look?” Amber clung to Patrick’s shoulder, tears streaming down her face. Dr. Cooper examined her ankle, ordered an X-ray, and had a nurse wheel her down to radiology. With Amber gone, the hallway fell silent. Dr. Cooper leaned against the wall, asking casually, “By the way, did you know your wife was in the ER yesterday afternoon?” Patrick froze. “What do you mean, the ER?” “Severe mango allergy. Hives, throat swelling, almost suffocated. She was entirely alone when she came in, and she left alone, too.” Patrick didn’t say a word. Dr. Cooper flipped through the chart, shaking his head. “Your wife had an abortion yesterday morning, and then she was rushed here in anaphylactic shock in the afternoon. As her husband, don’t you think you failed her?” He looked up as he finished speaking. Patrick’s face had turned as white as a sheet.
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