He Thought I Was Just Playing Dead

Ethans girl best friend, Chloe, loved playing pranks.

The first time we met, she slipped a condom into my pocket and started a rumor that I was cheating on him.

At a friend's party, she sat right on Ethan's lap in front of my face, asking him who was sexierher or me.

Every single time, I would get angry and confront Ethan. But after a while, Ethan stopped comforting me.

He impatiently told me to stop overthinking. He said I had no sense of humor. He told me to just "be the bigger person."

So today, when Ethan invited Chloe over to our house to watch the game, I didn't scream. I didn't question their relationship.

Even when they hugged each other, I just calmly sipped my juice.

But I never expected Chloe to sneak mango juice into my cup.

The one thing she knew I was deathly allergic to.

The moment I shut the bedroom door, my throat felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand.

I couldn't breathe.

Red hives erupted all over my skin.

I collapsed onto the bed. My phone screen was still glowing.

My search history was stuck on:

"Can a severe mango allergy kill you?"

Ethans voice came through the wooden door, sharp and demanding.

"Hazel, get out of the master bedroom. It's pouring rain outside, and Chloe is staying here tonight."

I didn't move.

It wasn't because I didn't want to.

It was because I couldn't.

My body felt like it was filled with lead. Every single muscle was burning hot.

I could feel my face swelling up.

My eyes were swollen shut, reduced to tiny slits.

My lips bloated like sausages. I couldn't open them, and I couldn't close them.

My throat felt like it was stuffed with burning hot coals.

Every breath felt like swallowing blades.

"Hazel, did you hear me? It's a storm out there, she can't drive home!"

Ethan yelled again.

Louder this time.

I could hear the anger in his voice.

He was losing his patience.

"Ethan, is she mad at me?"

Chloe's voice drifted in from the living room.

She giggled, sounding totally carefree, as if she were talking about some minor joke.

"I just added a little splash of mango juice to her cup. I wanted to play a little prank on her."

A little prank.

She said it so casually.

As if putting mango juice in the drink of someone with a severe allergy was just a fun little experiment. Like dropping Mentos into Coke.

"You knew Hazel was allergic to mangoes, and you still put it in?"

Ethan's voice didn't sound angry.

It sounded more like a weary sigh.

"I didn't know her allergy was *that* bad..."

Chloe whined, sounding hurt.

"I just wanted to add some flavor. I didn't want her to think the drink I made tasted bad."

"Alright, alright, that's enough. You did go a bit too far this time," Ethan cut her off.

"Hazel, Chloe knows she messed up. Stop throwing a tantrum. Pack your things and move to the guest room."

I didn't reply.

Not because I was throwing a tantrum.

But because I couldn't speak anymore.

My tongue was swollen.

My whole mouth was bursting with pressure.

I tried to open my mouth, but only a muffled whimper came out. Like a cat with its tail stepped on.

Ethan's voice turned harsh. "Hazel, can you not do this?"

After a moment of silence, he sighed and softened his tone. "...Fine, if you want to give me the silent treatment, cool down on your own. I'll come find you later."

Footsteps faded from the door.

The clinking of glasses came from the living room.

They went back to watching the game.

Just the two of them.

Without me.

I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

The crystal chandelier cast a shadow that looked like a butterfly.

I remembered when we were newly married. I couldn't sleep one night and pointed at the shadow, saying it looked like a butterfly. Ethan jumped out of bed, took a photo with his phone, and said he was going to brag to his friends about how creative his wife was.

Back then, he was willing to do anything with me.

But now?

Tears rolled down my swollen cheeks.

Breathing became harder and harder.

I could hear my own heartbeat.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Like someone knocking on a door that would never open.

The phone slipped from my hand.

I closed my eyes.

Whatever.

Let it be.

Nobody cared anyway.

Outside, the storm raged on, thunder rolling across the sky.

I wanted to go to the emergency room.

But in this weather, I couldn't get an Uber.

I couldn't even make it out the front door.

When my soul floated out of my body, my first thought was:

*So, this is what dying feels like.*

All the pain and agony disappeared in an instant.

I floated up to the ceiling, looking down at my own body on the bed.

That "Hazel" was lying there with her head tilted to the side.

Her face was swollen like a balloon.

Her lips were blue.

Her arms were covered in red rashes.

My phone lay on the floor, the screen still glowing.

My search history was stuck on the last thing I looked up before I died:

"First aid for anaphylactic shock from mango allergy."

I floated out of the room.

Right through the tightly shut doorthe door that nobody had bothered to knock on.

In the living room, Ethan was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone.

The coffee table was covered in half-eaten food.

Beer, chicken wings, chips, and half a pizza.

There was also a half-finished drink sitting right on the edge of the table.

Ethan hadn't cleaned it up.

He didn't know that I would never drink that cup again.

Chloe sat on the armchair next to him, her legs crossed, scrolling through her phone.

The TV was replaying the goal from earlier.

"Is Hazel still not coming out?"

Ethan didn't even look up. He just asked casually.

"It's all my fault. I shouldn't have messed with her cup."

Chloe kept her eyes on her screen, her thumb swiping up.

"I just wanted to make her a nice drink. I didn't think she'd get this mad."

"Well, it's not like it's a big deal, but you know she's allergic to mangoes."

Ethan's tone was incredibly flat.

No worry. No urgency.

It was like he was saying, "The weather is a bit cloudy today."

"Does she hate me? Ever since I came back, I feel like she's had an issue with me."

Chloes voice sounded a little sad.

"Back when it was just the two of us, things were so easy. Now, I don't even know what to do to make her happy."

Watching them, I wanted to laugh.

Chloe was trying to be careful?

The first time she came to our house after she returned, she filled my expensive skincare bottles with tap water. When I caught her, she just laughed and said she was "testing if they were real."

At the party, she swap-tricked my cocktail with straight tequila, making me embarrass myself in front of everyone. She laughed louder than anyone else.

But what broke my heart the most wasn't Chloe.

It was Ethans attitude.

Before Chloe came back, we were so happy.

He remembered every single food I loved. He would park outside my office building on rainy days to wait for me. He would cook hot soup and bring it to my study when I worked late.

Back then, I thought marrying him was the luckiest thing that had ever happened to me.

But the moment Chloe returned, everything changed.

He started talking about her constantly. He talked about how cute she was when they were kids, how close they used to be.

He took her out to dinner more times than he took me.

The way he looked at her was so much gentler than the way he looked at me.

He kept saying they were just childhood friends. But he never told me why childhood friends spoke to each other in that intimate tone.

He stopped remembering what I liked to eat.

He stopped waiting for me after work.

He stopped cooking soup for me.

He even started to find me annoying. He said I was making a mountain out of a molehill. He said I was being dramatic.

I wasn't being dramatic.

I was terrified.

I was terrified that there was no room left for me in his eyes.

"Alright, I'll go check on her."

Ethan finally put his phone down and stood up from the couch.

I followed him back to my bedroom door.

Ethan pushed the door open just a crack.

The room was pitch black. The curtains were drawn.

He saw a curled-up figure on the bed.

"Hazel, are you coming out or what?"

I didn't move.

I was already dead.

"Fine, stop pretending."

Ethan's voice grew even more impatient.

"If you don't want to come out, I don't care. Clean the guest room yourself."

He waited for a few seconds.

The bed remained completely still.

"Unbelievable."

Ethan slammed the door shut.

His footsteps faded away.

He left.

He didn't even step into the room.

He didn't turn on the light to look at my face.

If he had, he would have seen my blue lips.

He would have realized my hands were ice cold.

But he just stood at the door.

A few feet away.

Said a few words.

And walked away.

I floated in the living room.

Staring at that closed door.

"Ethan, why isn't she out yet?"

Chloe finished her last slice of pizza, her lips greasy.

She glanced at the tightly shut bedroom door.

"Who knows? She's just throwing another tantrum."

Ethan was cleaning up the coffee table.

He threw the leftovers into the trash can.

He picked up my drink, looked at it for a second.

He hesitated.

Then he poured it down the sink.

"Is she still mad at me?"

Chloe's tone sounded a little anxious now.

"I really only added a tiny bit to give it some flavor... I didn't know it would turn out like this."

"It's fine. But you know she's allergic to mangoes."

Ethan stacked the cups and brought them to the kitchen.

"Don't do that again next time."

Just that one sentence.

No anger.

No lecture.

He didn't tell her, "You almost killed my wife."

Just a casual, light, "Don't do that again next time."

The same way he would tell someone, "Don't leave your socks on the couch next time."

I watched them.

I felt a sharp ache in my chest.

Even though I was dead and my heart had stopped beating.

Why did it still hurt so much?

"Ethan, do you think she's actually okay?"

Chloe's voice suddenly got quiet.

"What could possibly happen to her?"

Ethan turned on the kitchen faucet.

The rushing water drowned out his words.

"Shes been like this since we got married. She plays dead over every little thing."

He paused.

"Remember when you put superglue on her chair? She stayed home for days acting like she was traumatized. She was perfectly fine in the end, wasn't she?"

My soul drifted back to the living room.

Chloe's phone lit up.

It was a text from her best friend.

"Chloe, did you leave yet? How's the wife doing?"

Chloe typed back.

"She's fine. She's just dramatic. Throws a fit over every little thing."

"Did Ethan yell at you?"

"Why would he? Ethan knows exactly what she's like."

"Lmao good. Next time, let's try something else."

"For sure. I've got a plan for next time."

"Hahaha you're savage."

I stared at the messages on the screen.

I felt something shatter inside my chest.

It wasn't anger.

It was something much colder than anger.

It was despair.

The absolute despair of realizing that, in their eyes, I wasn't even a human being.

To Chloe and her friends, I was just a toy.

A toy they could mess with whenever they wanted, without any consequences.

After all, Ethan would never get mad. He would always take her side.

I turned around and floated away from the living room.

I didn't want to hear their laughter anymore.

I didn't want to know how they mocked me.

I was dead.

None of this had anything to do with me anymore.

But why did it still hurt?

Later that night, Ethan came to the door again.

This time, he knocked.

"Hazel, come out."

No response.

"If you don't say anything, I'm coming in."

Still no response.

Ethan pushed the door open.

The room was pitch black.

He reached for the switch on the wall.

The light flicked on.

My body was still lying on the bed.

In the exact same position as this afternoon.

My face was even more swollen now.

My lips had turned a dark purple.

My fingers were curled up tightly, stiff and pale.

Ethan stood at the doorway. He looked at me and frowned.

"Are you still pulling this stunt?"

He didn't walk in.

He stood by the door, crossing his arms.

He was less than three feet away from me.

Three feet.

His wife was dead.

Lying right there, three feet away from him.

He looked at me for three seconds.

Then he turned around and walked away.

"Hazel, I'm telling you, if you don't get up, I'm freezing your credit cards tomorrow."

His voice boomed from the living room.

He didn't look back.

He didn't hesitate.

He just left.

I floated above the head of the bed.

Looking at my own corpse.

Swollen beyond recognition.

Even I could barely recognize myself.

Ethan.

You didn't recognize me.

Because you never actually looked at me.

Whenever you looked at me, it was always with impatience.

You always thought I was playing victim, being dramatic, pretending.

You never once thought.

That one day, I would actually die.

I was dead, and you still didn't believe it.

The game ended, and the rain outside gradually stopped.

Chloe glanced at the closed bedroom door and sighed.

"Ethan, she still won't come out. She clearly doesn't want me here. Forget it, I should just go home."

"She's always like this, don't take it to heart... I'll drive you." Ethan grabbed his jacket.

"No, it's fine. You should stay and be with her. She's still mad."

"It's pouring. I'm not letting you drive alone." Ethan was already putting his jacket on. "Let's go."

The two of them walked out.

The lock clicked shut.

The entire house fell into complete silence.

Only I was left.

Lying in the dark room.

My phone lay on the floor.

One corner of the screen was cracked.

Notifications kept popping up.

From Ethan.

From my manager, Sarah.

From coworkers asking about work.

None of them knew.

The owner of this phone.

Would never reply again.

Ethan didn't get back until almost eleven.

He came in, took off his shoes, and changed his clothes.

As he passed the bedroom door, he paused.

"Hazel, seriously..."

He cracked the door open and looked inside. The light was still on.

I was still lying there, unchanged.

He stood at the door and sighed.

"You are so frustrating."

Then he reached in, turned off the light, and went to sleep in the guest room.

*Click.*

The room fell into darkness.

My soul stood in the dark.

Looking at my own corpse.

I suddenly remembered a post I had scrolled past a few days ago.

It asked: *If you died alone in your apartment, how long would it take for someone to find you?*

Some said three days.

Some said a week.

Some said it depended on when the neighbors started smelling the rot.

At the time, I thought:

*That won't happen to me.*

*I have a husband.*

*No matter what, he would find me, right?*

Now, I knew the truth.

He wouldn't.

He would just think I was throwing a tantrum.

Being dramatic. Playing dead.

And even when I was actually dead.

He still wouldn't believe it.

The next morning, Ethan got up and made breakfast.

The sound of eggs sizzling came from the kitchen.

The delicious aroma drifted in.

It used to be my favorite smell.

"Hazel, wake up. You're going to be late."

Ethan called out from the kitchen.

No response.

"Hazel!"

Still no response.

"Seriously, every single day."

Ethan walked out of the kitchen holding a plate of fried eggs.

He glanced at the bedroom door.

He didn't walk over.

He picked up his phone and sent me a text:

"Are you getting up or what? I don't care if you're late."

The message was sent.

No reply.

He sent another one:

"Hazel, don't push me."

Still no reply.

He slammed his phone on the table.

"Unbelievable."

He packed his things.

And went to work.

The house fell completely quiet.

Only I was left.

Lying in the dark room.

At ten in the morning.

Sarah, my manager, called.

Ethan answered.

"Ethan, why isn't Hazel at work today?"

"Oh? She's not there?"

"No, she hasn't showed up."

"That's..."

Ethan's voice sounded confused.

"She was throwing a fit last night and locked herself in the room. I thought she left for work on her own this morning."

"You should go home and check on her right away."

"Okay, I will."

The call ended.

But Ethan didn't go back immediately.

He told his coworkers he had an errand to run.

Then he kept working on his tasks.

It wasn't until noon.

That he finally drove back home.

When he walked through the door, he was still complaining.

"Hazel, you better come out. We are having this out today."

He walked to the bedroom door.

He pushed it open. The lights were off.

The curtains were still drawn.

It was pitch black.

He reached out and flipped the switch. The light came on.

I was still lying on the bed.

In the exact same position as yesterday.

I hadn't even changed my clothes.

The swelling had gone down a bit.

But my lips were even darker now.

A deep purple, almost black.

"Hazel?"

Ethan's voice changed.

He realized something was wrong.

I would never skip work just to throw a tantrum.

No matter how mad I was, I would never skip work.

Because I knew the consequences of missing work were serious.

So I always got up on time, went to work on time.

No matter how miserable I felt.

But this time, I hadn't gotten up.

Ethan finally walked closer.

He reached the side of the bed.

He reached out and pushed my shoulder.

"Hazel? Stop scaring me..."

My body moved.

Stiff, ice cold, like a block of stone.

Ethan jerked his hand back.

He stared at my face.

Stared at my swollen features.

My purple lips.

My curled fingers.

His pupils dilated in sheer terror.

"Hazel!!"