Chapter 1Every winter, my husband and son break out in hives around me. Red, angry welts cover their skin. In severe cases, they struggle to breathe.
So when the cold sets in, they pack up and move to another house.
Because of this, I've never spent a single Christmas with them.
Another spring arrives.
I'm thrilled to finally have them home, when I happen to catch them talking outside the window.
"Dad, we only get to see Willow mommy in winter. Can't we make the allergy thing last longer?"
Willow Ashford? My husband's childhood sweetheart? I move closer to the window—
"Too many antihistamines aren't good for you. Willow mommy would worry. But I promise I'll bring you back to see her whenever I can."
"But I'm not itchy anymore. Can I eat mango candies again? I really wanna go back now."
Mango? The allergen I've moved heaven and earth to keep my son away from?
My heart seizes. I stand frozen.
Five years of love crumbles in an instant. Turns out it was all a lie...
I stumble out the door in a daze and catch my son red-handed, clutching a bag of mango candies.
"Mom... I..."
"Eat up. Eat until you choke. You're getting exactly what you wanted."
—A life without me
...
Jasper looked thrown. He just stood there, speechless.
After a long pause, he tore open a mango candy wrapper.
The hope in his eyes cut deep.
He probably figured eating it would send him straight back into his Willow mommy's arms.
All those warnings I'd drilled into him. The allergy notice laminated on his school ID. All for nothing.
Suddenly, Reed rushed over and smacked the candy out of Jasper's hand.
"Rowan, what's gotten into you today? He almost ate a mango candy. You know how serious his allergy is!"
Right. I knew.
I'd even hunted down every trace of mango like it was a bomb.
Checked every snack label, every carton of milk, reading ingredients letter by letter, terrified I'd miss something.
I warned Jasper over and over:
"If anyone offers you mango, don't eat it, okay? Or you'll end up in the hospital getting shots. They'll poke you so many times you won't be able to sit down."
I warned his teachers and classmates until I sounded like a broken record.
"Jasper's severely allergic to mango. Please keep an eye out."
I treated mango like a loaded gun.
But that candy? Reed gave it to him.
Just because it was their golden ticket to see his secret lover.
I kept my voice flat:
"Why does he have mango candy in the first place? Shouldn't I be asking you that?"
Panic flickered across Reed's face before he brushed it off and took Jasper to the living room.
They were used to coming home to a table loaded with food and handmade gifts.
My way of celebrating our family reunion.
Not this time. The table sat empty.
Reed frowned.
"Rowan, what's going on with you today?"
He saw my eyes turning red and sighed.
"Are you still upset? I'll figure out how to fix this allergy thing. I hate that winter keeps me away when you need me most."
My nails dug into my palms.
So he did remember.
When I was pregnant, my mom got leukemia. Reed wanted to save the baby. I wanted to save my mom.
"I'm donating my bone marrow. I don't care what anyone says."
No one had a harder choice than me. I loved my baby too. But that was my mother.
Then Mom's condition nosedived, like she'd found out somehow.
She became too sick for the transplant.
That's when we realized—she'd stopped taking her meds. She'd given her chance at life to my unborn child.
I gritted my teeth through labor, but postpartum hormones hit like a freight train. I spiraled into depression.
Winter was the worst. Alone in that house, darkness pressing in from every corner.
I couldn't feel happy. Couldn't feel anything. Came so close to ending it so many times, but then I'd think of my son...
The child my mother traded her life for. He hadn't grown up yet. So I held on.
To keep them safe, I turned myself into a walking hazmat suit every year. Wore a literal gas mask.
But even breathing the same air seemed to trigger them.
The rashes came anyway. No one could figure out why.
Every time, Reed would grab Jasper and bolt for the door.
"Rowan, he's breaking out again. Just hang in there until spring. Then we'll come home."
I couldn't understand it. Scrubbed myself raw in the shower until my back bled.
Some twisted part of me thought this was punishment from the universe. I collapsed in the bathtub and cried myself to sleep.
Those brutal winters nearly broke me.
Turns out it was all a lie.
Chapter 2
I pulled Reed's hand away and went back to my room alone.
That night, Jasper ended up in the hospital anyway. He'd snuck a mango candy.
Kids can't keep secrets. Even half-delirious with fever, he kept mumbling.
"I want Willow mommy. I don't wanna go home."
Every word cut like a knife. I'd just finished talking to the doctor about his care plan and nearly lost my balance.
I handed Reed the notes I'd taken and let out a long breath.
"Let's get divorced. Let his Willow mommy take over."
But Reed just laughed it off.
"Kids say random stuff. You're taking it seriously?"
He looked me in the eye, half-joking, half-explaining.
"Willow Ashford—you know her. I haven't seen her since we got married. I brought Jasper to visit her once recently. Kid probably got his wires crossed. Novelty, you know? Happens when you see someone new."
Before I could respond, Willow came rushing in, making a beeline for Jasper's bedside.
She scooped him up, cradling him like he was hers, then turned on me.
"Rowan, how could you let him eat mango? He's such a good kid. Why would you put him through this? Just a few days ago, I had him all healthy and happy."
People in the hallway stopped to stare.
"Stepmoms just aren't the same as real moms. Poor kid. This is why you don't just up and divorce."
Maybe she felt my glare burning into her, because she quickly backpedaled.
"Rowan, don't take it the wrong way. I didn't mean it like that. I'm just so worried about him. He keeps getting hurt."
I turned and walked to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face until I could breathe again.
He keeps getting hurt because he's trying to escape me. To see his Willow mommy.
From age three until now...
When I came back, I was about to walk in when I heard laughter spilling out of the room.
"Dad, can I stay with Mommy a few more days?"
He said it so naturally. Willow looked thrilled.
Reed didn't even corrected him.
"No. Your Willow mommy showing up like this was already risky. I told you—we can't let Rowan find out."
Willow firstly bit her lip, pouting.
"Just this once? We'll stay out of Rowan's way. I just want to make sure he's okay before I leave. I only get to see him three months a year. A few extra days won't hurt."
Reed stared at her for a moment, then caved.
"Fine. Just this once."
I laughed bitterly to myself.
I AM the homewrecker now, apparently.
Just then, the doctor came in to ask about Jasper's medical history.
But Reed fumbled through every single question, stammering and drawing blanks.
Even the doctor couldn't hide his frustration.
"Does the child have a history of allergies? What medications has he taken before? What were his worst reactions?"
The doctor's voice grew sharper. "Do you people even pay attention to your own kid?"
Willow wrung her hands. Reed awkwardly texted me.
That's when I pushed the door open.
"Talk to me. I'm his..."
Never mind.
"Just talk to me."
I walked the doctor through every detail of Jasper's medical history.
I gave birth to him. I couldn't just stand by and watch him suffer.
When I finished, Willow suddenly made a show of leaving.
Jasper looked at me then her and burst into tears.
"No! No! I want Willow mommy!"
His shrill crying echoed through the room. I knew what this was. A performance. To make me leave so they could have their space.
Tears welled up, but I forced them back and looked at my son.
"Fine. I won't come back."
Chapter 3
That night, I had a splitting headache. Half out of it, I accidentally called Reed.
He came right away, brought me water, fed me medicine.
"Don't blame Jasper. It's just the novelty. In a few days, he'll be calling for you again. This way, you can rest. You've lost weight."
Once I felt better, he went back to the hospital.
But over the next few days, I became unbearably drowsy. When I woke up, my mouth tasted bitter and my stomach cramped.
I went to the hospital alone.
The doctor looked at me, confused.
"Did you switch medications? Your old prescription was working fine. Don't mess with what works."
I shook my head. I kept my meds with me. Same bottle, same packaging.
But when the doctor picked it up and ran a quick test, his face changed.
"This is similar to a sleeping pill. You're intolerant to these, remember? I prescribed them once when you couldn't sleep, and you had this exact reaction."
"Now that your sleep's fine, who's been giving you these?"
My whole body went cold.
I flashed back to Reed messing with my pills. I could barely believe it.
Reed had been annoyed that I called him last night. To make sure it didn't happen again, he'd been slipping me sleeping pills.
Just a while ago, he'd warned me himself.
"Medication has side effects. Don't mix them up."
Now, the best way to keep me from bothering him was to knock me out.
I laughed bitterly.
My heart felt like it was being carved open, piece by piece.
I went home and started packing. I wasn't dragging this divorce out any longer.
While sorting through things, a graded essay fell out.
The teacher had written at the top:
[Sincere love, only for Mom. Excellent work!]
For a moment, I was transported back. When Jasper was in preschool, the first song he learned was I Love Mommy.
I'd held his hand on the way home while he sang, off-key and proud.
"Mommy, when I grow up, I'm gonna buy you a big house. My mommy's the best!"
I picked up the essay—
[Mom and I are like the earth and snow—we can only meet in winter. When it gets warm, we drift apart. Every day, I wish winter would come sooner...]
Every word dripped with love. Just not for me.
A crushing sense of defeat pressed down on my chest.
I sat there for a long time. Then I got up, wiped down my mother's memorial tablet, and held it close.
Mom, the gift you left me isn't good. I'm taking you with me.
I don't want any of them anymore.
The sound of the door unlocking.
Reed came in with Jasper, fresh out of the hospital.
Jasper, still too young to hide anything, picked up right where he'd left off.
"Dad, nine months. I have to sit up straight, stand up straight, can't eat this, can't eat that. It's so bad."
Reed tapped him on the head.
"Don't talk like that. Your mom does it because she loves you."
Jasper pouted.
"But I'm not happy. Willow mommy doesn't do that."
So that's how it is.
Hearing it again, I felt strangely calm.
Those nine months he found unbearable were the ones I cherished most in a year.
I lived in constant fear. Afraid those three months of "allergies" would stretch longer.
To them, it was a prison sentence.
Reed saw me in the bedroom and assumed I hadn't heard. He scolded Jasper, then brought him over.
"Rowan, this kid's just being a brat. Good thing you didn't come to the hospital. Would've worn you out."
