My Husband Chose My Sister Over My Life

I clawed at my own throat. The rough fibers of the restaurant carpet scraped against my cheek.

Lila let out a piercing, theatrical sob. "Ethan! Is she dying? I'm so scared!"

Ethan dropped to his knees. He didn't kneel beside me. He rushed straight to my sister. He pulled Lila against his chest, wrapping his arms securely around her trembling shoulders.

"Shh, it's okay. Don't look at her," he murmured, stroking her hair.

His gaze snapped to me. Disgust twisted his features.

"Why did you eat it if you knew you were allergic, Sylvia?" he demanded, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. "You just had to prove a point!"

I couldn't form words. A harsh, rattling wheeze tore past my lips. My vision tunneled, the edges of the dining room fading into black.

"Sir, step aside!" a panicked voice shouted.

A waiter slid onto the floor next to me, a cell phone pressed tightly to his ear. "We need an ambulance immediately. Suspected anaphylaxis. She's turning blue."

Ethan kept his arms wrapped tight around Lila. "You're traumatizing her," he snapped at me.

Darkness swallowed the room entirely.

The sharp sting of an IV needle anchored me back to reality. The rhythmic beep of a heart monitor filled the sterile white hospital room.

"Five more minutes," a stern voice said.

I blinked my heavy eyelids open. A doctor in blue scrubs stood near the foot of my bed, glaring directly at Ethan.

"Excuse me?" Ethan asked. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

"If the paramedics had arrived five minutes later, your wife would be in the morgue," the doctor stated flatly. "Her airway was completely closed. This wasn't a mild reaction."

The doctor checked my chart, gave me a brief nod of sympathy, and walked out of the room.

I turned my head on the thin pillow. My throat felt like it had been scrubbed with sandpaper.

"Ethan," I croaked.

He pushed off the wall and walked over to my bed. He didn't reach for my hand. He didn't ask how I felt.

"You really took it too far this time," he said.

I stared at him. "I almost died."

"And Lila is an absolute wreck," he shot back, his volume rising. "She sobbed the entire ambulance ride. She's sitting out in the waiting room right now, terrified because you decided to throw a tantrum over a piece of cucumber."

"She knocked the sauce onto my plate."

"It was an accident!" Ethan threw his hands up in exasperation. "Why are you always trying to make her the villain? Can't you just let it go for once?"

I gripped the edge of the scratchy hospital blanket. "Where is my EpiPen, Ethan?"

He frowned. "What?"

"My EpiPen. I always keep it in the side pocket of my purse. It wasn't there."

"How should I know?" He rubbed his temples, letting out a heavy, put-upon sigh. "You probably forgot it at home."

"I never forget it."

"Well, clearly you did." He checked his watch. "Look, I'm not doing this tonight. You're fine now. The doctors pumped you full of steroids."

"Someone emptied my purse," I insisted, forcing myself to sit up. The room spun, but I ignored the dizziness. "Lila was smiling at me while I choked on the floor."

"Stop accusing your sister of trying to kill you!" he shouted, stepping right up to the edge of the mattress. "Listen to yourself, Sylvia. You sound insane."

"Bring her in here, then," I challenged. "Let me ask her."

"Absolutely not. I am taking her home so she can recover from this nightmare."

"My anniversary dinner," I whispered, the betrayal burning hotter than the allergic reaction. "My near-death experience. And she needs to recover."

"Grow up," he spat.

He turned on his heel and marched out. The heavy wooden door clicked shut behind him, leaving me completely alone.

Silence settled over the room. The clock on the wall ticked past midnight.

My chest ached with every shallow breath. I stared at the ceiling, replaying the image of Lila looking down at me. She hadn't been scared. She had been victorious.

My phone buzzed on the bedside table.

I reached over and grabbed the device. A push notification lit up the locked screen.

*Alert: Chase Sapphire Joint Card.*

*Charge: $412.50.*

*Merchant: The Pearl Seafood Brasserie.*

My thumb hovered over the glass. The Pearl. The exact restaurant we had just left in an ambulance.

I tapped the call icon and dialed Ethan's number.

It rang three times.

"Hello?" a soft, sweet voice answered.

Not Ethan.

"Lila," I said, my fingers tightening around the plastic casing of my phone.

"Oh, Syl! You're awake." She didn't sound surprised. She sounded perfectly calm.

"Why do you have my husband's phone?"

"He went to the restroom," she replied breezily.

Clinking glasses echoed in the background. The faint, unmistakable hum of a live jazz saxophone drifted through the speaker.

"Where are you?" I demanded.

"Well, brother-in-law was worried I didn't eat enough tonight," Lila said. Her tone dropped into a quiet, intimate purr. "So he brought me back to finish our meal."

The heart monitor next to my bed spiked, the beeps accelerating into a frantic rhythm.

"You went back," I breathed out.

"It's a shame you missed the lobster," she whispered. "It's really to die for."

The line went dead.

I lowered the phone, the dial tone buzzing in my ear. They had left me in a hospital bed to go finish an anniversary dinner together.

Suddenly, a shadow fell across the frosted glass of my hospital room door. A tall figure paused outside, hand resting on the handle.