He Faked His Allergy for Years, So I Ruined His Life

My husband was supposed to be deathly allergic to alcohol. He wouldn't touch a single thing that had even a drop of it. During our first year of marriage, I made Beef Bourguignon. He threw a massive tantrum, flipped the entire dining table, and screamed, asking if I was trying to murder him. Since then, not a single drop of alcohol was allowed in our house. I didn't even dare to buy rum chocolates. But just moments ago, at our college reunion, he took a glass of red wine from a female classmate and drank the whole thing in one draft. I wasn’t shocked. I just turned around and handed him a divorce agreement. Our friends and family immediately accused me of making a scene out of nothing. Ethan, furious, poured the rest of his red wine right onto my dress. "Hailey was just trying to help me blend in since everyone else was drinking. She poured me a glass out of kindness. What is your problem?" "Besides, Hailey is already married and a mother. Do you really need to hold a grudge against an old classmate?" I let out a soft laugh, turned around, picked up a full bottle of red wine from the table, poured a glass to the brim, and shoved it right in front of Ethan’s face. "Oh, so you can drink now? Keep going then. Drink up!" "Are you insane?" Ethan slapped the wine glass out of my hand. The glass shattered on the hardwood floor. Hailey rushed over immediately, pulling out wet wipes from her bag to wipe the wine off his hands. "Ethan, don't be mad. Chloe probably just had too much to drink." Ethan shielded her behind his back and sneered at me. "Chloe, have you learned how to humiliate me in public now?" "Chloe." First and last name. He only called me that when he despised me the most. "You just drank the red wine Hailey poured for you. A whole glass. Not a single drop left." My voice wasn't loud, but the table at this reunion was only about ten feet wide. Everyone heard me. "That's because Hailey was being polite! Everyone was drinking. How awkward would it be if I was the only one holding a water glass?" "Three years ago, because I made Beef Bourguignon, you flipped the dinner table and claimed I was trying to kill you." A flicker of guilt crossed Ethan's face, but it was quickly masked by anger. "How is that the same? I barely touched the wine with my lips just to be polite. I didn't actually swallow it. Can you stop making things up?" Chugging an entire glass in one go is now called "barely touching your lips." The former classmates around the table started chiming in. "Come on, Chloe, stop making a scene. Ethan just wanted to fit in." "Exactly. Hailey didn't mean any harm. She's a mom now. Do you really need to go after her?" Hailey lowered her head right on cue. "Chloe, this is all my fault. I shouldn't have poured the wine for Ethan. If you two fight because of me, I’ll feel guilty for the rest of my life." "Look at you! You've terrified Hailey!" Ethan pointed a finger at me. "Forcing me to drink in front of all these people—do you really want me to go into anaphylactic shock and die right here?" I stared at his hands. There wasn't a single hives outbreak. Not even a red spot. Three years ago, when he accidentally touched red wine, his whole body swelled up for two days. His hands and neck were covered in bright red rashes. The paramedics had to give him an EpiPen shot to bring it down. Today, after a whole glass of red wine, his skin was clearer than Hailey's. "Aren't you allergic? Why hasn't a single red spot appeared after a whole glass of wine?" The table fell dead silent for a second. "I took my allergy meds beforehand, okay? How much longer are you going to interrogate me?" Hailey nodded quickly in agreement. "Yes, exactly! Ethan told me before leaving the house that he brought his meds. He said he'd be fine as long as he didn't drink too much." "She knew." He told her before leaving the house. But when he left our apartment today, he never mentioned a single thing to me about drinking. "Since you took your meds and you're fine, drink another glass. Show me that you're truly okay." Ethan clenched his fists and loosened his tie. "You are sick." "If you don't drink, it proves your allergy is fake. If you do, it proves the allergy never existed, and you only flipped that table three years ago to make me feel guilty for the rest of my life." "No matter what, I lose, right?" Ethan smiled coldly. He leaned down and whispered in my ear. "If you dare to sign those divorce papers, don't expect to get a single penny from me." He straightened up and offered an apologetic smile to the rest of the table. "Sorry, everyone. My wife has been under a lot of stress lately. I’ll take her home first." Then, he walked toward the parking lot. Hailey followed closely behind him and slipped into his passenger seat. I stood frozen in place. I reached into my bag only to realize he had taken my car keys before leaving. The country club was in the outer suburbs, twenty-five miles from the city. There was no public transit. My Uber app showed the nearest driver was fifty minutes away. In my high heels, I began walking down the dark winding road. After about twenty minutes, my phone rang. An unknown number. "Hello, is this Ethan’s wife? I’m calling from the Luna Wine Cellar customer service. We wanted to confirm the annual tasting package Ethan and Hailey booked last week. Should the invoice still be billed to Ethan’s personal account?" "What wine cellar?" "Luna Wine Cellar. Ethan is one of our founding members. This is his third year with us." Third year. During our first year of marriage, he told me he almost died from an alcohol allergy. That same year, he became a founding member of a private wine cellar. "Don't worry about the invoice. He won't be your member for much longer.""If you don't come back and apologize, I won't give you a single dime. And don't even think about staying in the apartment." Ethan's texts buzzed on my phone three times while I was walking down the road. Each text felt louder than the last. Just as I was about to turn off my phone, Ethan’s mother, Eleanor, called. "Chloe, do you have any idea how bad this looks? You and Ethan fighting like this in public? Tomorrow, buy some flowers, go apologize to Hailey, and let’s get over this." "Eleanor, he lied to me for three years." "Lied about what? It was just a glass of wine! Men have to drink when they socialize. Don't be so petty." I hung up on her. By the time I finally reached our apartment, it was 1:00 AM. When I tried to use my key, I realized the smart lock code had been changed. A sticky note was stuck to the door in Ethan’s handwriting: "Think things through before you knock." I took a step back and noticed a pair of pink slippers sitting next to the shoe rack outside the door. I pulled out my phone and called my college roommate, Maya. "Maya, can you look up something for me? Ethan's phone backup is synced with our home iPad, and the password is still the old one. Can you log in and see if there’s a folder called 'Tasting Notes'?" Maya didn't ask questions. She got straight to work. Three minutes later, her voice changed. "Chloe, I see it. But you might not want to hear this." "Read it to me." "The first entry is from September 17th, three years ago. "'My wife made Beef Bourguignon today. I used it as an excuse to throw a huge fit. It worked perfectly. She won't dare keep any alcohol in the house now. This way, she’ll never find out about the wine cellar project Hailey and I are working on.'" That was the day he ruined the dinner, rolled on the floor crying that he couldn't breathe, while I knelt beside him in tears calling 911. The paramedics said it didn't look like a typical allergic reaction, but he brushed it off by saying his body was just unique. I never imagined the allergy was a complete act. "How many entries are there?" "Two hundred and thirty-seven. From three years ago to last week. Average of at least two entries a week. There are several photos with a long-haired woman. The photos are tagged 'Ying'." Ying. Hailey’s middle name. "At the bottom of the folder, there’s a sub-album called 'Luna Daily.' It’s full of progress photos of the wine cellar, from the location scouting to the interior design and grand opening. One of them is a close-up of the business license." Maya paused. "The legal representative is Ethan. The shareholder is Hailey. Registered capital is eighty thousand dollars." I crouched outside my locked door, my back pressed against the cold wall. "He was never allergic to alcohol, Chloe. He just didn't want you touching wine. He didn't want you in the industry. The moment you went back to being a sommelier, his wine cellar with Hailey would be exposed." Maya’s words left a long, heavy silence over the line. My mind flashed back to the past. Before we got married, I made the top three nationwide in the Master Sommelier preliminary trials. Ethan was thrilled when he found out. He said we’d get married the moment I got certified. But his first "allergic reaction" happened exactly one week before my final exams. "Maya, screenshot everything in that folder. Back it up and send it to my new email." "And then?" "And then, I need to find a place to sleep tonight. I can't get into this apartment." I hung up, stood up, and looked down at the pink slippers. She had been here. More than once. Before leaving, I moved those pink slippers to the most obvious spot, right in front of the smart doorbell camera. I wanted Ethan to see them every single time he opened the door. "Three years," I whispered to the empty hallway. "I believed you for three whole years.""I'm sorry, ma'am. The co-signer of this account has placed a freeze on it. You cannot withdraw any funds." The bank teller slid my card back across the counter. At the same time, my phone lit up with a text from Ethan: [Want to spend money? Come home and apologize first.] The account had twelve thousand dollars of my pre-marriage savings. When we got married, Ethan said it was easier to manage our money together. I didn't think twice. We opened a joint account, and he kept the card. For four years, I barely even used the pin. Because he said he would handle the finances, and my only job was to stay home and be happy. I dialed his number. "Unfreeze the account." "Apologize to Hailey first." "Twelve thousand of that money belongs to me from before we got married. You have no right to freeze it." "You can't even afford a meal without me, Chloe. What rights are you talking about? You think too highly of yourself." The line went dead. I didn't call him back. Instead, I went straight to his office. The receptionist’s face turned awkward the moment she saw me. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Mr. Miller gave strict instructions. No family visits." "I am his wife." "Mr. Miller said... he doesn't know you." The receptionist spoke softly, her eyes filled with pity. I slipped past the security gate when another employee swiped their badge. Ethan’s office was on the third floor. The door was slightly open, and I could hear Hailey’s laughter coming from inside. I pushed the door open. Hailey was sitting in Ethan's chair with her legs crossed, holding a cup of Starbucks. Around her neck was a pearl necklace. It was my third-anniversary gift from Ethan. It had disappeared from my jewelry box two months ago. Ethan said we must have lost it during the move, and he even stayed up comforting me that night. Now, it was sitting on Hailey's collarbone. "Oh, Chloe's here?" Hailey made no effort to stand up. She toyed with the pearls. "Beautiful necklace, isn't it? Ethan said you didn't want it anymore because it was old, so he gave it to me. If you like it, Chloe, I can buy you a similar one?" On our third anniversary, Ethan had personally put that necklace around my neck, telling me he saved up for six months to buy it. Ethan walked in, and his face turned to ice the moment he saw me. "Who let you up here? How did you get past security?" "You locked me out of the apartment, and you froze my bank account." "You brought it on yourself. Who told you to act like a lunatic last night?" He pulled a document from his drawer and slammed it onto the desk. Black ink on white paper. "Divorce Agreement." Under the asset division section: "The Wife voluntarily waives all marital assets and exits the marriage with nothing." "Sign it." "Are you kidding me?" "You don't have to sign it." He flipped to the last page and pointed to a line of small print. "During the marriage, the Wife repeatedly exhibited emotional instability, baseless paranoia, and attempted to harm the Husband with hazardous substances. According to professional evaluations, the Wife is suspected of having delusional tendencies." Delusional. He had turned my discovery of his lies into a mental health diagnosis. "This is slander." "This is an evaluation report co-signed by two licensed psychologists." Ethan pulled out another document. "Do you want me to take this to court and get a restraining order? If I do, you won't even be allowed within three hundred feet of me." Before he could finish, a man walked in. He was dressed in a sharp suit, with a platinum wedding band on his left ring finger. Hailey immediately jumped out of the chair and ran over to wrap her arm around his. "Honey, what are you doing here?" Marcus. Hailey's husband, Ethan's direct supervisor, and the Marketing Director of the company. He gave me a cold glance. "Chloe, you're being unreasonable. Ethan works himself to the bone under me for who? If you can't support him, at least don't come to his office to make a scene. Do you have any idea how this affects his career?" "Your wife is spending all day in my husband's office. You don't mind that?" Marcus pulled Hailey closer to him, his eyes locking onto mine. "Hailey is my wife, of course I trust her. But you—you're always paranoid. I suggest you see a therapist." Hailey smiled at me from his arms. Ethan gestured toward the door. Two security guards walked in and grabbed my arms. "Mr. Miller said this lady is unauthorized. Please escort her out." I was dragged out to the front entrance of the building. Behind me, Ethan's voice echoed down from the third-floor window. "Chloe, if you know what’s good for you, sign the agreement. Don't make me use that evaluation report.""Mom, open the door. I have nowhere else to go." The door opened slightly. My mother, Helen, stood there in an apron, her hands covered in flour. She frowned the moment she saw me. The wine stains on my dress had dried hard, one of my heels was broken, and my hair was a complete mess. "Chloe, what happened to you?" "Ethan locked me out. He froze my bank account." "I know. He called me last night. He said you tried to divorce him in front of everyone at your reunion." She sighed and stepped aside to let me in. Pasta was boiling in the kitchen. The smell made my stomach growl. "He lied to me for three years, Mom. He’s not allergic to alcohol. He’s been drinking this whole time, and he opened a wine cellar with Hailey." "Chloe, not this again." My mom put down her spoon. "Ever since your first year of marriage, you’ve always suspected Ethan. He didn't even dare to hire a young female assistant because of you. What more do you want?" "I have proof. Proof of his affair." "Are you sure you didn't fake it? Could it be someone else's account?" "Mom, the password is his birthday plus my initials. He set it himself." My mom went silent for a few seconds. She pulled out her phone and opened a chat. It was her chat log with Ethan. The latest message was from early this morning: "Helen, Chloe might be having some mental issues. She keeps hallucinating that I’m cheating on her. I’ve contacted some specialists. If she comes to you, please keep her calm. Don't trigger her." My mom put her phone away, her gaze turning cautious and pitying. "Chloe, maybe you should see a doctor?" "I am not sick." "Ethan wouldn't hurt you. He said he’s willing to pay for the best doctors. Once you're cured, you two can go back to normal." He hadn't just fooled me. He had fooled my mother, and he had paved every single road ahead of time. As long as I claimed he had a problem, the entire world would think I was the one who had gone insane. "Mom, I’m leaving." "Where are you going?" "Don't worry. I won't be a burden to you." As I stepped out of the house, my mother's voice drifted from behind me. "Chloe, if you change your mind, come back. Ethan said he’s always ready to welcome you home." I had twenty-five dollars in my pocket. My phone was at 32% battery. My bank cards were frozen. I sat on a park bench for a long time. While rummaging through my wallet, my fingers brushed against a hard card. It wasn't a credit card. It was a business card. "Julian Vance. Master Sommelier. President of the Sommelier Association." On the back was a handwritten note: "Chloe, whenever you want to come back, there will always be a place for you here." Four years ago, on the day I decided to pull out of the Master Sommelier trials, Julian had chased me to the campus gates and shoved this card into my hand. I told him I was getting married, that my husband was allergic to alcohol, and that I couldn't be in this industry anymore. He had stood there looking at me for a long time. He didn't tell me not to get married, nor did he say it was a waste. He only said: "Keep the card." The address on the card was less than a mile away from me. My broken heel made me limp with every step. At the end of the street, there was a dark mahogany door with a brass plaque: "Vance’s Decanter." I pushed the door open. Wine racks stretched from the floor to the ceiling, with warm lights illuminating rows of bottles. Behind the bar sat a silver-haired man, carefully polishing a decanter. He looked up. His eyes behind his glasses locked onto my face. "Chloe?" Julian took off his glasses, put down the cloth, and walked over to me. "I’ve been waiting for you. For three years and seven months."