The Womanizer's Mute Wife-Chapter 269: Side story - 5

GENESIS

"Mija, please calm down and listen to me," my mom said, her voice soft but firm through the phone. "Respira, mi amor. Respira hondo."

I couldn’t breathe.

My heart was slamming so hard I thought it would crack my ribs. My eyes were blurry from the tears rushing down my cheeks in hot, endless streams. All I could think was: **this cannot be happening**. Not after everything. Not after the the pain I’d clawed through to finally have peace. The happiness I’d bled for. The family. The twins. Kieran.

The universe couldn’t be that cruel. It couldn’t take him from me now.

"I’m on my way to the hospital," Mom said, "but I need you to tell me, did the doctor say his reaction was to your presence? Because that’s completely ridiculous if I’m to say."

"Yes, it was ridiculous," I choked out, wiping my face with my sleeve. "But I can’t deny the pattern. It’s right there. Every time I walk in... he crashes. Every time I leave... he stabilizes. They’re going to test it. With me in the room. With specialists. They think... they think he might be reacting to me."

Silence on the line. Then a soft, pained exhale.

"Oh, mija..."

My body shook, knees buckling, and I slid down the hallway wall until I was sitting on the cold tile, hugging my knees to my chest.

"I can’t... I can’t be near him," I whispered. "What am I going to tell the kids? That Mommy can’t hug Daddy anymore? That if I touch him he might die?"

My fingers found the little flower hair clip Izzy had made in preschool, dried baby’s breath and tiny white daisies glued to a barrette. She’d been so proud. "For Mommy," she’d said, pinning it in my hair herself every morning. I touched it now and cried harder.

Mom’s voice came back, steady.

"Escúchame. You don’t know anything for sure yet. Wait for the test. Don’t spiral until they prove it. I’m almost there. Vamos a resolver esto juntas, ¿sí?"

Tears dripped onto my jeans.

"Sí, Mamá."

I hung up and stayed on the floor until I heard her car pull into the lot.

She rushed out, arms open.

We collided in the middle of the parking lot—her hugging me so tight I could barely breathe, stroking my hair, murmuring in Spanish the way she never got to when I was a child.

"Tranquila, mi niña. Tranquila. Todo va a estar bien. Dios no nos va a quitar esto después de todo lo que pasamos."(Calm down, my child. Calm down. Everything will be okay. God will not take this away from us after everything we went through.)

"Let’s go," she said finally, wiping my face with her thumbs. "Vamos a ver a tu esposo." ("We are going to see your husband.)

We walked inside.

The doctor met us in the hallway.

"Mrs. Blackwood," he said. "We’re ready for the controlled test. We have an allergist and an immunologist here. We’ll monitor vitals continuously. You’ll enter the room first. If there’s any reaction, we’ll intervene immediately."

I nodded, numb.

Kieran was in the bed, propped up, looking pale but alert. When he saw me his face lit up.

"Babyyy," he said, voice rough but warm. "I’ve been waiting for you."

He didn’t know.

They hadn’t told him yet.

His eyes flicked to Mom beside me.

"Mom," he said, soft, and surprised. "What are you doing here?"

I almost laughed through the tears. Even now, sick, hooked to monitors he still called her Mom.

"How are you doing, Kieran?" She asked.

"I’m okay," he said quickly, raising his arms as he turned back to me. "Come give me a hug, please."

I didn’t move.

I stood near the doorway, shaking, tears falling.

His smile faltered.

"What the hell, baby? Why are you still crying? I’m fine. Come here."

I took a cautious step closer, heart hammering. Then I saw it—tiny red dots blossoming across Kieran’s skin, spreading fast over his neck and chest. My stomach lurched. No, no, no...

Before I could even call for help, the doctors and nurses entered behind me.

Kieran looked at them, then back at me.

"What’s going on?"

The main doctor stepped forward and then they began.

"Mr. Blackwood, we’ve observed a pattern. Every time your wife enters the room, your vitals crash—fever spikes, rash appears, blood pressure drops. When she leaves, you stabilize. We suspect an allergic or anaphylactoid reaction... to her presence."

Kieran stared for a full second.

Then he just began laughing.

"You’re joking right."

The doctor didn’t smile.

"We’re not."

Kieran’s laugh died.

He looked at me.

"Baby... it’s not true."

My voice was barely a whisper.

"It’s true, Kieran."

He shook his head.

"It will never be."

The allergist stepped closer.

"We’re going to test it now. Controlled exposure. Continuous monitoring. If you react, we’ll administer epinephrine and antihistamines immediately."

Kieran ignored them completely.

"Baby, please come here. Let’s go home. I’ve heard enough of this nonsense."

He swung his legs over the bed, and stood.

He staggered immediately, his knees buckling.

The doctor caught him, and eased him back down.

And we all saw it.

The rash bloomed again, fast, angry red dots spreading across his face, neck, chest. His breathing hitched. Fever flushed his skin.

I rushed forward.

My hair clip fell and clattered to the floor.

The allergist picked it up.

He froze.

"What is this?"

All eyes turned to him including mine.

The tiny dried flowers Izzy had glued to the barrette—baby’s breath and white lilies of the valley.

"Um that’s mine, my daughter, she... she made it in preschool," I said, voice shaking. "For me. She brings a new one every day. There’s a bouquet on our nightstand. They were doing a flower-pressing project in class. She wanted me to have them."

The allergist’s eyes went wide.

He pulled the flowers off the clip, handed them to a nurse.

"Dispose of this immediately."

I stared.

"What?"

He looked at me.

"Lily of the valley. It’s extremely toxic, even dried or pressed. It contains cardiac glycosides, convallatoxin, primarily. Even skin contact or inhalation of pollen can cause severe allergic reactions in sensitive individuals. In someone already compromised like your husband with a recent viral infection, the exposure could trigger anaphylactoid shock, fever spikes, rash, hypotension... exactly what we’ve seen."

My mouth opened.

"But... why only him?"

"Individual sensitivity," he said. "Some people react violently to it; others don’t. Children handle small amounts in crafts without issue, but prolonged close contact, daily hair clips, a bouquet by the bed could build cumulative exposure. Especially if he’s kissing you, breathing near your hair, sleeping next to you every night."

"Look for yourself."

I looked at Kieran.

Kieran’s eyes were clearing.

The rash was already fading. His color was returning. Breathing evening out.

He reached for me again.

"Baby..."

I stepped forward, trembling in shock and relief.

He pulled me into his arms, and pressed his nose to my neck.

"I knew there was no fucking way I’d be allergic to you, my love."

I laughed, so relieved that it felt like I could carry the world.

"But what if you were?"

He tightened his hold.

"Separating from you would kill me faster than any flower. So I’d rather die in your arms."

I kissed him, deep and slow, tears mixing with his.

The doctors and my mom left quietly, the door clicking shut behind them like they were giving us the room to breathe for the first time in days.

Kieran pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes still fever-bright, but clearer now. The rash was already fading from his cheeks, the red dots retreating like they’d never been there. His breathing was steady. His hand found my face, thumb brushing away the wet tracks on my skin.

"Baby," he rasped, voice wrecked but warm, "if you ever think again that I could be allergic to you..."

He laughed, that dangerous little chuckle that always made my stomach flip.

"...I’ll burn this entire hospital down and fuck you on the ashes just to prove the point."

I choked on a laugh-sob, pressing my forehead to his.

"You’re insane."

"I’m yours," he corrected, pulling me closer until I was half in the bed with him, legs tangled, arms wrapped so tight it hurt in the best way. "And no flower, no doctor, no goddamn universe is taking you from me. You hear me?"

Tears still fell, softer now, as I pressed against his neck.

"I hear you."

He kissed the top of my head, then my temple, then the corner of my eye—claiming every tear like it belonged to him too.

"I’d rather die in your arms than live without you," he murmured, lips brushing my ear. "So if I ever start sneezing around you, just know it’s because my soul is trying to crawl out and live inside yours permanently."

I laughed again.

"You’re ridiculous."

"I’m obsessed," he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And I’m never apologizing for it."

He shifted us carefully, IV line and all until I was lying beside him, head on his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady under my ear.

"Rest now," he whispered, fingers threading through my hair. "I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you."

I closed my eyes, still crying a little, but smiling too.

Because even half-dead from fever, hooked to monitors, and just told he was "allergic" to me...even though he was not.

Kieran Blackwood still loved me to absolute, unhinged madness.

And God—he loved me so perfectly.