Chapter 20: Suspicion

My mother-in-law had prepared a lavish spread on the dining table, a sight that would usually make my mouth water and my stomach rumble in anticipation. The tantalizing aroma of spices filled the air, and the food itself looked like a work of art. The centerpiece was a succulent roasted chicken, its golden skin glistening with savory juices. It was surrounded by an assortment of side dishes: a vibrant medley of roasted vegetables, their colors bursting with life; creamy mashed potatoes, velvety and whipped to perfection; and a bowl of fragrant jasmine rice, each grain separate and fluffy.

But despite the culinary masterpiece before me, something inside me twisted with discomfort. There was an unexplained unease that crawled its way up my spine, a nagging sensation that made it hard to ignore. The food looked impeccable, and yet my instincts told me that something was off, that there was a hidden danger lurking within those delectable dishes.

Leaning closer to my husband, I whispered urgently in his ear, "I need to talk to you privately for a moment." Sensing the urgency in my voice, he rose from his seat, his tall frame towering above me, and we quietly made our way downstairs, seeking solace away from his mother's presence.

As soon as I was sure we were out of earshot, I took hold of his hand with both of mine, my gaze fixated on our intertwined fingers. The contrast between the dark color of his skin and the whiteness of mine struck me, a visual reminder of the worlds we came from, colliding and merging together.

When he inquired about what was troubling me, I finally looked up to meet his worried gaze. The words that were about to spill from my lips held weighty accusations, but I had to trust him with my premonition. With a trembling voice, I confessed, "I feel like there's chili in your mom's food."

His immediate dismissal caught me off guard, his words dripping with disbelief. "That's absurd," he declared. "My mother knows you're allergic to chili. She would never put it in the food."

I pressed on, desperation seeping into my voice. "It's how I feel, despite the lack of evidence. There's something about it that doesn't sit right with me."

Annoyance tinged his tone as he tried to play down the situation. "You're just cooking things up in your mind," he said, attempting to console me. "You and my mom may have your differences, but she would never intentionally hurt you."

I wanted to believe him, truly I did, but the unease gnawing at me wouldn't relent. Before I could voice my concerns further, his mother's voice interrupted our private moment, floating from the dining room. "Are you two going to come up or not?" she called out, her voice tinged with impatience. "The food will get cold."

My husband, Baby Corrigan, grasped my hand firmly once again, a gesture of reassurance. "I assure you, my mother hasn't put chili in the food," he said earnestly, leading me back upstairs toward the dining room.

Reluctantly, I followed him, hoping against hope that my premonition was just a figment of an overactive imagination. But as we ascended the stairs, the unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach persisted, casting a shadow of doubt over the exquisite feast awaiting us.

I looked down at the food that my mother-in-law had set before me, my appetite completely vanishing at the sight of it. The platters were already being ravaged by my husband and his mother, but I couldn't bring myself to partake. A subtle movement caught my attention, and I turned my head to find Baby Corrigan glaring at me from across the table. I quickly averted my gaze, feeling a wave of discomfort wash over me, as if I had been caught in some unspeakable act.

Desperate to diffuse the tension and not make the situation any more awkward, I mechanically raised the forkful of food to my mouth and forced myself to eat. But as soon as the morsel touched my lips, a surge of heat and pain spread throughout my body. I knew immediately that my worst fears had come true. The food contained chili, and my allergic reaction was instantaneous.

I bolted from my seat, stumbling towards the door, desperately trying to reach the safety of fresh air. But I couldn't make it more than a few steps before the contents of my stomach erupted, soiling the prized Persian rug that lay beneath me. My mother-in-law's shrill voice pierced through my retching, berating me for ruining her expensive possession and questioning my knowledge of its value.

Through my haze of nausea, I heard Baby Corrigan's concerned voice, asking if I was alright. But I was unable to respond, my body wracked with spasms of vomiting while his mother continued her barrage of insults. The world around me blurred as I fought to regain control, my own weakness mocking me.

Suddenly, Baby Corrigan was by my side, his anger apparent as he engaged in a heated exchange with his mother. Their voices echoed through the entire neighborhood, a tumultuous symphony of anger and frustration. The chaotic scene only heightened my desire to escape. Summoning every ounce of strength, I stumbled towards the door, my body trembling and my dress stained with vomit.

My stomach felt hollow, emptied of its contents, yet my body continued to convulse, trying to expel what was no longer there. Before I could reach the exit, the sound of footsteps echoed down the stairs, and Baby Corrigan appeared at my side once more. His voice was a balm, offering soothing words of comfort, urging me to go easy on myself as he gently guided me towards his car.

I sat in the passenger seat, my once elegant dress now a disheveled mess, soaked with the remnants of my sickness. My body still shuddered with occasional waves of nausea, betraying my vulnerability. As we pulled away from the house, Baby Corrigan broke the heavy silence, his voice laced with regret.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his words laden with remorse. "I should have believed you, I should have protected you."

Conflicting emotions churned within me—anger at his mother for her careless disregard, anger at myself for not being more assertive, and anger at Baby Corrigan for not standing up for me sooner. Yet, as his genuine apology washed over me, I couldn't help but feel a flicker of forgiveness deep within.

In that moment, all I wanted was to escape the suffocating presence of that house and the overwhelming toxicity that had enveloped our evening. The car ride was filled with a heavy silence, punctuated only by the occasional sound of my labored breathing and the rhythmic hum of the engine.

As we drove further away from that place, the tension gradually began to ebb. Baby Corrigan reached out, his hand finding mine, offering a lifeline of solace and reassurance. "I'm so sorry for what happened," he repeated, his voice softer this time. "I'll make it right, I promise."

Tears welled up in my eyes, a mixture of frustration, hurt, and a glimmer of hope. I turned to him, my voice barely above a whisper, "I didn't want it to be this way… I didn't want any of this to happen."

He squeezed my hand gently, his eyes filled with genuine remorse. "I know, and I'll do everything in my power to make it up to you. You deserve better than this."

In that moment, the weight of my anger shifted, and I began to see that he, too, had been caught in the crossfire of familial loyalty and conflicting emotions. As we continued down the road, his apology and his touch began to soothe the raw wounds that had been inflicted on my spirit.

The night air brushed against my face, carrying with it a sense of liberation. I allowed myself to take a deep breath, filling my lungs with fresh hope. There would be difficult conversations to come, but I held onto the belief that we could navigate them together, forging a path towards healing and understanding.

Baby Corrigan's gaze met mine, his eyes filled with determination. "We'll find a way through this," he affirmed, his voice resolute. "I'll always be here for you."

And in that moment, as the distance between us and the chaos grew, I found solace in his words. The road ahead would not be easy, but together we would face the challenges, redefining our own path and building a future that was not dictated by the burdens of the past.

As the car glided forward, I let go of the anger and resentment, choosing instead to embrace the love that still bound us. With Baby Corrigan's unwavering support and my own resilience, we would navigate the aftermath of that tumultuous evening, rewriting the narrative and reclaiming our happiness.