“Whatever Mitchell wants to do with the house is entirely up to him. The attic is fine. I can stay there,” I lowered my head and spoke softly, my voice barely audible.
Mitchell’s expression was hard to read. He didn’t seem pleased.
Seeing him like this, I felt uneasy and questioned myself. I had already stepped aside in every possible way for the person he held dearest in his heart. Why was he still dissatisfied?
The worst part came during dinner.
The table was covered with an array of lavish dishes.
Mitchell carefully served food to Maggie, who beamed with joy.
I kept my head down, silently eating the plain spaghetti in front of me.
“Nora, why aren’t you eating anything else?”
Maggie’s sweet voice rang out as she reached over to place a piece of mutton on my plate.
I didn’t eat it, silently pushing it to the side.
“Nora, do you have a problem with me? You don’t even eat the food I gave you.”
Her expression turned hurt, and Mitchell’s face immediately darkened.
“Nora! Eat it. Who do you think you’re trying to snub here?”
I looked up, a heavy weight pressing against my chest.
“I can’t eat this,” I said quietly.
I was allergic to many foods. Back at home, our dining table had never featured dishes I couldn’t eat. But now, almost everything on this table was something I couldn’t touch.
Mitchell had forgotten.
–
“What do you mean you can’t eat it? Maggie’s trying to build a good relationship with you. Don’t be so ungrateful. Eat the lamb.”
“It’s fine. It’s my fault. The kitchen made everything I like today. It’s Nora’s first day back, so it’s understandable if she’s unhappy. Nora, tell the kitchen what you’d prefer, and they’ll make it for you.”
Maggie’s eyes glinted with deliberate provocation.
But none of this angered me anymore.
“She’s not that fragile. Just because you like it doesn’t mean she can’t eat it. Nora, stop making things difficult for everyone. Be more considerate.”
Mitchell’s face was grim, his brows tightly furrowed—an unmistakable sign that he was about to lose his temper.
Once again, he left me no room to explain, immediately assuming I was at fault.
At the boarding school, they taught us: I had to obey the person who fed me and provided for me.
I mustn’t make Mitchell angry. If he got upset, it would be my fault.
“Alright, I’ll eat it.”
I lowered my head and forced myself to eat, taking large bites, desperate to avoid escalating the conflict.
As he saw me eating, his furrowed brow finally relaxed.
Suppressing the nausea churning inside me, I ate whatever they served, lamb included.
But soon, my neck began to itch, followed by an unbearable tingling all over my body. My throat felt constricted, as if someone were choking me.
My trembling hands could no longer hold the utensils. I collapsed onto the floor.
“Oh, my!”
Maggie shrieked and threw herself into Mitchell’s arms. His first instinct was to hold her close.
It wasn’t until I struggled on the floor, barely managing to retrieve my phone to dial 911, that he finally reacted.
“What’s wrong with you?”
When he saw the red welts spreading across my skin, genuine panic flickered in his eyes.
“You’re having an allergic reaction! You’re allergic to lamb! How could I have forgetten?”
–
By the time I was rushed to the hospital, I could barely breathe.
Thankfully, I made it just in time and narrowly escaped death.
As I lay in the hospital bed, Mitchell sat nearby, fully focused on comforting the woman crying in his arms.
“This is all my fault. If I hadn’t served her that food, she wouldn’t have eaten it and gotten sick.”
“Don’t cry. This isn’t your fault. She’s just stupid—knowing she’s allergic and still eating it.”
Hah, so it was my fault.
“You’re awake, Nora.”
Maggie turned, her tear-streaked face lighting up with feigned surprise and concern as she approached me.
Mitchell, however, spoke first, “Why didn’t you say you were allergic? Why did you eat it anyway?”
