My Wife’s Deadly Allergy Was Only For Me

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Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!

The chants at the party echoed through the crowded bar, loud and relentless.

I stood at the edge of the crowd, quietly watching my wife of three years, Kylie.

She giggled, took a mouthful of whiskey, and leaned in close to her male friend, Robertson. Moving her lips to his, she slowly poured the alcohol directly into his mouth.

Once the drink was transferred, Robertson wrapped his arm around her waist. He gave her cheek a playful, teasing pinch.

"Aren't you afraid of being allergic to my spit?"

Kylie patted his hand away, her eyes crinkling into beautiful crescents as she spoke in a sweet, whiny tone.

"Why would I be? Id never be allergic to yours."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she stood on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, and pulled him into a deep, ten-second French kiss.

My mind went completely blank.

In that instant, my mind flashed back to our wedding three years ago.

I had merely brushed my lips against hers at the altar, and she had immediately gone into anaphylactic shock. She was rushed straight to the ICU.

The doctors told me she had a severe saliva allergy. Even the slightest contact with someone else's spit could be fatal.

Since then, during every single intimate moment, she forced me to wear a sealed silicone mask. She wouldn't even let my lips touch a millimeter of her skin.

Because of her "condition," rumors spread like wildfire in our social circles that I had chronic bad breath or some kind of contagious stomach bacteria. They said I was the one who forced Kylie to live like a nun.

To protect her self-esteem, I silently took the blame. I endured the whispers and mocking glances for three whole years.

But right now, looking at her smudged lipstick, I finally got it.

She wasn't allergic to saliva.

She was only allergic to me.

If I hadn't happened to walk into that exact bar tonight, I would have never known.

I would have never seen Kyliewho told me she was working late at the officeholding alcohol in her mouth and feeding it to Robertson without a single shred of hesitation.

After she finished feeding him the whiskey, the crowd around them went wild. Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!

And Kylie actually did it. Egged on by the crowd, she pressed her lips against his. She closed her eyes, tilting her head to change angles several times.

She even leaned in deeper, completely lost in the moment.

I stood there, frozen.

At our wedding, when our guests chanted for us to kiss, she had flatly refused, using her deadly saliva allergy as the perfect excuse.

I clenched my fists and started walking toward them. But after only a few steps, I lost my footing and crashed straight into the bar counter.

Glasses shattered, sending a loud clatter through the room. Instantly, every eye in the bar turned to me.

The kissing couple stopped. Robertson, looking like a smug winner, raised an eyebrow. He walked over and stretched out a hand, pretending to help me up.

"Well, if it isn't Howard? What's wrong, buddy? Can't even walk straight?"

I slapped his hand away. "Get out of my face!"

Robertson shrugged, putting on a perfectly innocent act.

"Hey, don't be mad. We were just playing a game. You know Kylie and I have been like this since we were kids..."

I swung my fist at his face. But before my punch could land, Kylie threw herself in front of Robertson, completely ignoring how humiliating this was for me.

"This is a private party with all our friends. Have you thrown enough of a tantrum? Get the hell home right now!"

I let out a cold, humorless laugh. I walked straight past them, took a seat right in the middle of her friend group, and sat down.

"A gathering of friends? As your husband, don't I deserve a seat at the table?"

A heavy silence fell over the group. The two people sitting closest to me instinctively slid their chairs a few inches away.

"You have chronic bad breath and H. pylori bacteria, and yet you still have the nerve to crash our game? Aren't you afraid of infecting all of us?"

The guy sitting next to Robertson spoke up, his voice dripping with righteous indignation.

The others exchanged awkward glances. I looked at Kylie. She was sitting right next to Robertson, smiling and nodding along with the insult.

Because Kylie had refused to let me touch her all these years, the rumors about my "disgusting bacteria" and "terrible breath" had run rampant.

To save her face, I had never once defended myself.

And now, a secret so private was being thrown in my face as a joke by her friends to mock me.

And she just sat there, refusing to say a single word in my defense.

I pulled out my phone, opened my medical app, and flashed my latest digital health report. "Take a good look. I don't have any bacteria, and my breath is perfectly fine. So, Im joining the next round."

Kylie stood up, trying to snatch my phone. "Stop it, Howard! Why are you being so childish?"

"Oh? And what about your saliva allergy, Kylie? Seems like you can kiss whenever you want now!"

Dozens of curious, gossiping eyes instantly locked onto us.

Kylies ears turned bright red. She grabbed my arm, trying to force me to shut up.

I shook her hand off. This time, she didn't try to stop me from joining the game.

I grabbed the dice cup and shook it violently. When I lifted it, I revealed the highest possible roll.

Everyone stared in utter shock. Including Kylie.

She rarely brought me to her social gatherings. She had no idea how good I actually was at these bar games.

"I win," I said coldly.

Robertson, who had been looking smug next to Kylie just a second ago, was now frozen like a statue.

"Robertson, since you love mouth-to-mouth so much, why don't you give Hillary a kiss?"

The rule of the game was simple: the winner could choose anyone at the table for a Dare.

Robertson couldn't back out, but his face turned incredibly sour.

Kylie had told me before that Hillary had been chasing Robertson for years. This dare should have been a favor to her.

But Kylie immediately spoke up to defend him. "Babe, come on. Robertson is shy. Let's just skip this round, okay?"

I felt my chest tighten, my voice turning incredibly cold. "You play, you pay. Why is it okay for Robertson to kiss my wife, but he can't kiss anyone else?"

Robertson clenched his fists so hard his nails dug into his palms.

"It's just a game, Howard. Don't make things difficult for Robertson," Kylie pleaded, throwing me under the bus just to protect his feelings.

My stomach started to churn with a sickening pain, but I refused to lose my ground. "He's the one with bad luck. Why is that my fault?"

Unable to take it anymore, Robertson stood up and stormed out of the bar in a rage.

Kylie stood up immediately. She threw a freezing glare at me. "Are you happy now?"

With that, she ran out after him.

The party fell apart because of me.

Strangely, I didn't feel like a winner at all. I only felt a deep, crushing exhaustion.

I slowly stood up, the pain in my stomach growing sharper by the second.

By the time I stumbled into the restroom, I was vomiting nothing but burning, sour bile.

I don't even remember how I got to the hospital.

When I finally opened my eyes, a doctor was already standing over my bed, his voice urgent.

"Mr. Vance, you have severe gastrointestinal bleeding. Its an emergency. We need your family to sign the consent forms for surgery immediately!"

I didn't want to call Kylie.

"Doctor... can't I just sign it myself?"

The doctor shook his head. "You are in critical condition. You cannot make these medical decisions alone."

I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth and dialed Kylies number.

The first few times, the call went through but was left unanswered. After that, her phone was turned off completely.

"What's taking so long? Where is your family?" the nurse urged.

I silently dialed her number over and over again.

The irony was unbearable. While Kylie was ignoring my life-or-death calls, she had just posted an update on Instagram.

The caption read: "Best friends for life! "

The picture showed the back of her and Robertson, clinking glasses at a cozy lounge.

I slowly lowered my phone and closed my eyes.

A few minutes later, Robertson sent me a Snapchat video.

In the video, on the bed I swept and made every single day, messy clothes were scattered all over the floor. Kylie and Robertson were snuggled up together under the same blanket.

To top it off, Robertson sent a text: "Hey Howard, is there something urgent? Kylie is exhausted. Shes already asleep."

I stared at the ceiling for a long time.

"We can't wait any longer. The bleeding is getting worse. Where is your wife?" the nurse pressed anxiously.

I shook my head. "No one is coming. My wife... she can't make it."

Hearing this, the nurse's annoyed expression instantly softened into shock and deep pity.

In the end, I signed the consent form myself and was wheeled into the operating room alone.

I had no idea how long the surgery took. But the moment I regained consciousness, my phone was buzzing non-stop.

I checked. It was Kylie.

Instead of calling her back, I blocked her number on every single app.

During my five days in the hospital, my bedside remained completely empty.

The nurse, unable to watch me suffer alone, helped me hire a private caregiver.

While tending to me, the caregiver gently asked, "Where is your family, dear?"

I stared blankly out the window.

"They're not here. It's a long flight, and they're getting old. I didn't want to worry them."

The caregiver patted my hand gently, saying nothing.

Suddenly, I missed home.

My fingers hovered over my phone, and I accidentally dialed my father's number.

The moment I realized what I had done, I hung up in a panic.

He was probably buried in work, trying to rebuild his business. I couldn't let him see me in this pathetic state.

A moment later, my father called back.

I swallowed my tears and let the phone ring until it went silent.

The day I was discharged, I rushed straight back to our apartment to pack my bags and leave.

But to my surprise, I ran into Robertson.

When I opened the door, Robertson was sitting comfortably in my favorite spot on the couch, eating popcorn and spilling it all over the floor.

He wasn't even surprised to see me. He casually gestured for me to sit down, as if he were the master of this house.

I kicked his shoes out of the doorway and walked straight past him into the bedroom.

But he followed me in.

"Haven't seen Kylie in a few days. Are you throwin' a tantrum?"

Treating him like air, I opened the closet. That was when I realized how little of my stuff was actually left in this house.

"Don't worry, Kylie is doing great at my place. Honestly, she doesn't really want to come back here anyway."

I still ignored him, silently packing my suitcase.

Seeing my silence, he lost his cool. He stepped right in front of me, blocking my path.

"Kylie loves me, Howard. Just face it and get out."

I honestly couldn't comprehend this man.

One minute he was claiming they were "just friends," and the next he was demanding I step aside.

I stopped packing and looked him dead in the eye.

"Are you done?"

He blinked, taken aback.

"If you're done, get out. I need to pack."

Robertsons face twisted in anger, his voice turning sharp and nasty.

"Damn, Howard. You really are a pathetic coward, aren't you? Your wife is sleeping with another man, and all you can do is pack your bags?"

BANG!

I slammed my fist against the closet door right next to his head. The heavy wood let out a deafening boom.

Robertson gasped, stumbling back two steps in terror.

"You're right. I can't take it anymore," I said, my face completely expressionless. "But even if I leave, it doesn't mean a piece of trash like you gets to act tough in front of me."

Right then, I heard the sound of keys jingling at the front door.

Kylie walked in.

The second she saw a pale Robertson standing by the bedroom door, she didn't even ask what happened. She immediately started lecturing me.

"What is wrong with you, Howard? You block my number, you don't come home for days..."

"Robertson was worried about you! Hes been waiting here for days just to make sure you're okay, and you decide to bully him the second you get back?"

"I'm bullying him?" I laughed, completely exhausted. I didn't even want to explain.

"Fine. Since you love him so much, go live with him!"

At that moment, Robertson started playing the victim again.

"Kylie, maybe I shouldn't be here. I'm just making Howard uncomfortable. He hates me anyway. I'll just leave..."

"Look at you, Howard. We've been friends for so many years, and you're still acting so childish," Kylie said, grabbing Robertsons hand before turning to glare at me.

"Ive told you a thousand times, Robertson and I are just best friends. If we wanted to be together, we would have done it long before you came along!"

She always used that line.

But whenever Robertson snapped his fingers, she would drop everything and run to him.

On our engagement day, Robertson had just returned to the country. One phone call from him, and Kylie abandoned our families at the restaurant to pick him up from the airport.

On our wedding day, Robertson couldn't stand seeing us get married, so he threw a tantrum and went missing.

Kylie literally paused the ceremony, demanding everyone search the venue just to find him.

And now, it was the exact same thing.

"Kylie, since you think I'm not as important as him, let's get a divorce."

"What did you say?" Her voice was filled with disbelief, laced with a mocking laugh.

"Sign the papers. Let's divorce. Since you feel so free with Robertson, you can finally be with him legally."

I pulled out the divorce papers I had drafted while lying in the hospital bed.

"Howard, stop playing games. Robertson could never replace you!"

Seeing that I wasn't backing down, she let out a cold sneer.

"Do you really think you can just divorce me, Howard? Have you forgotten what your father told you?"

She actually had the nerve to bring up my father!

Five years ago, if my father's company hadn't been targeted by a massive corporate rival, Kylie would have never received his $5 million seed funding.

Without that money, Kylies startup would have crashed and burned. She would never have achieved the success she has today.

Back then, with her status, she would have never been able to marry into my family.

My father had made Kylie promise to take me away from our hometown to protect me, telling me not to come back unless the storm cleared.

So for five years, no matter how hard things got, I never went back.

I stayed quietly by Kylies side, playing the role of a perfect, obedient husband.

She knew exactly why I was staying, and she used it to walk all over me.

Seeing that I didn't respond, Kylie smirked, feeling victorious.

"Besides, even if you don't care about yourself, think about your dad. He's getting old. Can his heart take the stress of you running back like a failure?"

With a slow, deliberate movement, she tore my divorce papers into shreds.

"So, forget about a divorce. Just be a good husband and keep quiet, okay?"

"Sure," I said quietly, looking past her at Robertson.

Robertsons face was incredibly sour. He had realized that Kylie was refusing to divorce me, which meant he was still just the sidepiece.

He immediately threw another silent tantrum, and Kylie quickly left my side to comfort him.

I silently swept up the torn pieces of paper and threw them into the trash.

I knew Kylie too well. She would never willingly sign those papers.

So, I stopped arguing with her.

She thought I had finally submitted to her will, and she lowered her guard.

A few days later, while she was away on a business trip, I held my phone for a long time before finally dialing my father's number.

"Dad... I want to come home."

In that single moment, all the pain and exhaustion I had bottled up for years finally overflowed.

I didn't tell him what happened. He was silent for a few seconds, then said softly, "I'll have a car waiting for you at the airport."

I took one last look at the city I had lived in for five years, and walked through the boarding gate.