Old Wounds Find No Spring, So I Chase My Own

My husband is allergic to me. Eight years married, and he has never once touched me.

Separate beds, separate meals, even two washing machines in the house. The moment I came too close, he couldn't sit still, could barely breathe.

I dragged him to doctor after doctor, but his symptoms only got worse, until just sharing a room with me left him nauseous and faint.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. It's all my fault, I'm useless. I can't even give you a child. You've suffered all these years for nothing."

The guilt and heartache in his eyes were what did it. I've always been terrified of needles, but I was the one who suggested IVF.

Except now, lying on the retrieval table for the sixth time, my eyes caught on an online help-post.

I've lied that I'm allergic to my wife so I could stay celibate for my first love for eight years. Now my first love and I have a child. What do I do?

The story was so familiar it choked me. Clinging to one thin hope, I tapped through to his page, and the ground dropped out from under me.

The only account the blogger followed was Leah Henson. My own sister. Same mother, same blood.

And the blogger himself. I couldn't think of anyone it could be except my husband, Duke Gilbert.

Before I'd even surfaced from the enormous pain of it, the door of the operating room swung open.

The doctor came in holding the thirty-five-centimeter retrieval needle. "Open a little wider, please. We're about to start."

I dumbly drew my legs back together. "I'm not doing the retrieval."

The doctor's whole face froze in shock, the instrument still hovering in her hand.

I got down off the table and turned to leave.

She hurried to stop me, her voice earnest. "Ms. Henson, the follicle quality is excellent this cycle. The odds of a successful pregnancy are very high."

"After trying so many times, you're right at the finish line. It would be such a waste to give up now."

I had no mind for any of it. I walked to the doorway of the operating room and sat down.

The replies under the post were mocking me, spelling out just how ridiculous the last eight years had been.

Come on, man, how did your wife actually believe an excuse that insane?

Bro's a genius. Allergic to only one person on earth, and it's his wife. Only you could come up with that.

Even his lies were this lazy, and I of all people had believed him without a shred of doubt.

Before we married, Duke told me himself that he was allergic to contact with women.

Even the simplest physical touch left his whole body wrong, his chest tight with panic.

I thought he was just born that way, and I believed love could get us through anything, so I married him gladly.

I went with him to every hospital there was. Dermatology, internal medicine, immunology, even a psychologist. Nothing helped.

But in the end I still wanted a child.

Five years ago, after another failed attempt to talk himself through it, Duke broke down sobbing.

I lowered my head and looked at the needle marks packed across my belly.

Five years. Over a hundred stimulation shots driven into my body, over a hundred trips to the hospital to track ovulation.

Alone, I endured the insomnia, the mood swings, the body that no longer looked like mine, all from the hormones, all so I could have a child with him.

My phone buzzed and pulled me back.

A message from Duke. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I've put you through pain again. The second I'm done here, I'll come straight home to take care of you."

The old me would have replied in a heartbeat.

This time I didn't. I just opened that post again.

I tapped through the avatar to his page and scrolled up like a woman possessed.

Eight years.

Over a thousand posts, every one of them about Leah.

When my eyes landed on a few of the dates, the pain in my chest hit hard.

The first IVF cycle failed. I cried myself sick, and all he did was comfort me with "it just isn't the right time yet," then turned around and went off to celebrate with Leah.

There they were in a photo, riding a Ferris wheel together. The caption: The romance of a Ferris wheel is only for the one you truly love.

I'd begged him more than once to ride it with me, and he'd always turned me down with some excuse or another. So it turned out this romance was one he'd meant for my sister all along.

The fourth retrieval, I hemorrhaged out of nowhere, my life hanging by a thread.

The doctors issued a critical-condition notice but couldn't find a single family member to sign. All eighty-nine calls I placed went unanswered.

Wrung out and shaking, I couldn't hold the pen, so I pressed my thumbprint down with everything I had left and signed for myself.

At that same moment, he was two thousand miles away, delivering Leah's dog's litter.

I couldn't name the feeling. I only knew a huge piece had gone hollow inside me.

I closed the page and replied to an email that was about to expire.

"Mr. Pruitt, I'll take the North America project. And I want to start as soon as possible."

The reply came fast. Flight details landed in my inbox before long, departure set for three days out.

When that job offer first came, leaving had never once crossed my mind.

As far as I was concerned, nothing in the world, all of it combined, could ever outweigh Duke Gilbert.

But now I finally understood just how absurdly wrong I'd been.

When I got home, Duke was in the kitchen, apron on, busy at the stove.

Eight years married, and he'd never once been willing to let me set foot in the kitchen. Every chore, big or small, he handled himself.

Anything I so much as glanced at twice would show up on my vanity the next morning. Everyone envied me for marrying such a good man.

Friends in our circle used to tease him: "The great Mr. Gilbert, who runs the whole business world, and he still comes home and circles obediently around his wife."

He always smiled, warm and easy, and said it outright: "A man should spoil his own wife."

I walked straight to the couch and sat down without a word.

Seeing me low, Duke came over, lifted a hand to pat my shoulder, then pulled it back at once.

As if the smallest touch of me stirred a physical revulsion in him he could barely hide.

"Honey, if it doesn't work this time either, we'll go to the best hospital abroad, together. We'll have a baby. I promise."

That earnest look. For a while it made me believe he truly wanted a child of his own blood with me.

A deep, heavy ache rose up in me. "Duke, we need to talk."

The words had barely left my mouth when the fingerprint lock beeped open.

Leah Henson pushed the door open and walked in, as familiar with the place as if it were her own home.

It struck me all at once. Back when I'd deleted her fingerprint from our door lock, I remembered the clear flash of displeasure on Duke's face.

He'd explained that keeping her print made it easier for her to come over and keep me company.

I hadn't thought much of it then. Now I understood it had only ever made things easier for the two of them to meet in private.

"I could see the IVF's been wearing on you lately, and your sister just got back from overseas. You two are so close. I asked her to come stay and keep you company."

I didn't answer. I turned my head and let my eyes drift over the dining table.

The whole spread was heavy and spiced, sharp enough to sting tears into my eyes.

Duke knew perfectly well I'd just come out of surgery and needed to eat bland.

I held the tears back and forced them not to fall. "I'm tired. I'm going to lie down."

He barely spared me a glance, brushing me off with a distracted told me to rest.

As I turned to shut the bedroom door, I caught Leah lifting a bite with her chopsticks, taking one taste, then frowning and complaining: "It's too bland. Here, try it."

Duke calmly took that same leftover bite into his own mouth, then stroked her hair, doting. "My fault. I'll make you a new batch."

But anything I'd touched, he'd always kept his distance from.

A little while later Duke pushed the door open, a takeout container in his hand. "Honey, I just ordered you some goji porridge. Drink it while it's hot."

I looked at the goji berries floating in the bowl and pulled a bitter little smile at the corner of my mouth.

I'm allergic to goji. One bite and my throat swells shut, and I can't breathe.

Three years ago I ate some by accident and was rushed to the ER. Duke knelt at my bedside, sick with guilt.

And now, just like that, he'd forgotten it clean.

Seeing how cold I was, he simply set the porridge aside, turned, and went back to the living room.

I hesitated a moment, then opened the living-room security camera anyway.

On the screen, Duke, the man who was allergic to any contact with women, held Leah tight against his chest.

She leaned into his shoulder and asked, aggrieved: "Duke, when are we going to lay it all out for her? Every time I see the two of you together in the same room, it turns my stomach."

He stroked her hair, his voice gentle.

"Give it a little more time. She's still your sister. We can't be too ruthless about it. Back when you were set on going abroad to study, I went along with what you wanted and married her first. And that was only to hold the Mrs. Gilbert seat for you, wasn't it?"

He patted her back and went on: "I've never forgotten what I promised you. Eight years, and I never once touched her. You know that. There's only you in my heart."

Leah let out a soft laugh. "Who would've guessed? My little sister, married all these years, still untouched. I really can't imagine how she's been taking care of her needs on her own all this time."

His tone was flippant. "How else would I handle it? Just grit my teeth and hold it in."

I stared at the screen, cold all over.

Leah pushed away his roaming hands, a trace of worry in her voice. "But what if Brenda finds out the truth and makes a scene?"

Duke's voice was certain and cold. "Look at the state of her now. Bloated and heavy from the hormone shots, needle scars all over her. What right does she have to make a scene with me?"

A flicker of smugness crossed his face.

"You know why the IVF failed so many times? I swapped her fertility drugs for ibuprofen. Works against the treatment."

"Just the day before yesterday, the doctor told me to talk her out of the IVF, said her life came first. I ignored it. I want her to try until she gives up completely."

I froze on the bed, the blood in my veins turning to ice in an instant.

Their laughter drifted over, as if mocking my stupidity.

On the camera, Duke was still thoughtfully putting food on Leah's plate.

"I like playing it risky right under her nose. And the child I want, Duke Gilbert only wants to have it with you."

My fury hit its peak. I shoved the door open and rushed out in front of them.

My body wouldn't stop shaking. "Eight years of lying to me. Aren't you two tired of the act?"

Duke frowned faintly, and after a brief pause he immediately turned, shielding Leah behind him.

His voice was full of impatience. "I saw Leah's your sister, so I chatted with her a little longer. What are you throwing a fit about now?"

Leah went right along with it.

"That's right, little sister. The worst thing between a husband and wife is groundless suspicion. Stop dragging out small things to give your brother-in-law a hard time."

Duke's frown deepened.

I stopped staying silent and slammed the camera footage down on the table.

For an instant panic flashed across his face, but he quickly recovered his calm.

He stepped forward, reaching to pull me toward him. I turned aside and dodged.

"I know I've wronged you. But think about it, I hid this from you because I didn't want to ruin the bond between you and your sister."

Hiding it was for my own good? My hatred erupted completely. I raised my hand and flipped the dining table over.

Cups, plates, and chopsticks crashed to the floor, shards flying everywhere.

Leah looked at the man beside her, displeased. "Look at her! Completely out of control. If she keeps making scenes like this, there'll never be any peace in this house."

Then she shot me a cold glance, turned, and walked out.

Duke had no time to stand off against me. He rushed out the door after her.

He ran fast, his shoulder slamming into the entryway cabinet. The fertility charm figurine that had sat there in worship for so long crashed hard to the floor.

The shattering sound burst out, and a sharp shard of porcelain sliced across my calf, blood running out without stopping.

At the sound, the man's steps halted.

He turned his head, saw the scene behind him, his eyes cold, then chased out the door without a backward glance.

Three years ago, Duke, who had never been superstitious, made a special trip to an old chapel on the city outskirts to bring back this figurine, and every day he worshiped it with me.

Only today did I learn that day was the first night he and Leah spent together.

Eight years of hoping shattered to pieces along with that figurine.

I stumbled into the study, wanting to find more evidence, to pour out every grievance to Mom and Dad.

Duke's personal computer sat lit on the desk. I tried typing in my sister's birthday, and it logged in smoothly.

In the chat app synced to it, a four-person group jumped into view.

Trembling, I opened it.

The members were my husband, my own sister, and my own parents. Only I had been left out.

Our original five-person family group chat, the last message frozen on the New Year's greeting I had sent.

The pale glow of the screen lit my face as the conversation inside slammed into my eyes.

Leah had tagged everyone in the group.

"The thing between me and Duke can't be hidden anymore. Be ready. She might come to you looking for justice."

Mom was the first to jump in.

"Justice? The Mrs. Gilbert spot was yours to begin with. She took your man for eight whole years and actually thought she was the lady of the house. What face does she have to make a scene with you?"

Dad wasn't about to be outdone. He even used three angry emojis in a row.

"It was going to come out sooner or later. If Duke hadn't been unwilling to let you suffer alongside him back then, how would it ever have fallen to her? She got to enjoy eight easy years for nothing. Now that you're back, she should hand the spot over to you on her own."

I laughed until I cried.

When I married him, Duke wasn't the Mr. Gilbert everyone stands in awe of now. The company was on the brink of bankruptcy.

After the wedding, to prop him up, I gritted my teeth and earned six professional certifications in a single year.

I saw him through countless crises and forced that company all the way to going public.

They couldn't bear to gamble my sister's marriage, afraid she'd suffer.

But I was a daughter too, and somehow it was my lot to pave the road for her.

The group chat kept going. Leah seemed to feel a flicker of pity.

"But she went through a lot for the IVF too. Wouldn't this be too cruel to her?"

The group went suddenly quiet, and my heart tightened along with it.