Now, three years into their marriage, Calvin still celebrated their anniversary with mango cakes. Beautifully decorated and undoubtedly expensive, the cakes were Iris's favorite. Calvin never cared—or perhaps never bothered to remember—that Amber was allergic to mangoes. She ate them anyway, forcing a smile through every bite, unwilling to spoil his mood. The following day, she'd end up at the hospital, her body covered in rashes, all because of him.
That night, as the moonlight faded behind the rain-heavy clouds, Amber lay sleepless once more. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol as Calvin snored softly beside her, his presence a cruel reminder of their reality.
With painstaking effort, she managed to drag his limp body to their bedroom. Suppressing her revulsion, she unbuttoned his shirt, wiped the sweat and liquor from his skin and pulled the covers over him. Then she quietly retreated to her side of the bed, careful not to disturb him further.
Her relief was short-lived. Less than half an hour later, the shrill ring of Calvin's phone sliced through the silence.
Amber flinched, her heart sinking when she saw the caller ID flash on the screen: [Iris.]
Before she could react, Calvin stirred, his hand darting out to snatch the phone. "Shh," he whispered sharply, pressing a finger to his lips as if Amber were a noisy intruder.
"Iris?" His voice was soft, tender in a way Amber had never heard before.
On the other end of the line, Iris's voice was equally delicate, tinged with tears and desperation. "Calvin, I have a fever again. Can you come to the hospital? I'm scared. I don't want to be alone."
Amber's chest tightened as she listened to the exchange, but Calvin didn't so much as glance at her.
"Don't worry, Iris," he said, his voice brimming with concern. "I'm on my way."
Throwing off the blanket, he bolted upright, fumbling to button his shirt and grab his jacket. Turning to Amber, he barked an order: "Get up. You're driving me to the hospital. I've been drinking."
Amber wanted to refuse, to let him feel the weight of his choices, but years of habit kept her silent. She grabbed the car keys and an umbrella before stepping into the storm.