Chapter 3

The next morning, the smell of pesto filled the small apartment.

I walked into the kitchen. Sofia was at the stove, stirring a large pan of pasta. Carter was sitting at the island, watching her with a doting smile.

He saw me and gestured to a plate. "Sofia made breakfast. Sit down and eat."

Sofia turned, a bright smile on her face. "I made my special pesto pasta. It' s Carter' s favorite."

She knew. Of course, she knew. I have a severe, life-threatening nut allergy. Pine nuts are a primary ingredient in pesto. I had told Carter a hundred times. We never had nuts in the house.

"I can' t," I said, my voice flat. "I' m allergic."

Sofia' s face fell. Her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, my god. Amy, I am so, so sorry. I completely forgot. I feel terrible."

She looked at Carter, her lower lip trembling. "I' ve insulted her. She thinks I did it on purpose."

Carter' s face hardened. He stood up and pushed the plate in front of me.

"Eat it, Amy."

"Carter, I can' t. It will put me in the hospital."

"Don' t be so dramatic," he snapped. "You' re insulting our guest. Sofia worked hard on this. You will take one bite to show you appreciate the gesture."

His hand clamped down on my shoulder, forcing me into the chair. He pushed the fork into my hand.

"Eat."

His voice was like ice. Sofia was crying softly behind him. The whole scene was absurd.

My throat felt tight just from the smell. My hand was shaking. I looked at Carter' s furious face, and I knew I had a choice. I could fight, scream, and prove him right that I was "unhinged." Or I could end this.

I put a single, small piece of pasta in my mouth.

The reaction was immediate. My tongue started to swell. My throat closed up. I couldn' t breathe.

I stumbled from the chair, gasping, and ran to the bathroom. I forced myself to vomit, my body convulsing over the toilet. Cold sweat broke out all over my skin. I could hear Carter yelling from the kitchen.

"See? Drama. All for attention."

I leaned against the cold tile, my heart pounding. I thought about Sofia. She grew up with a housekeeper for a mother, just like my mom cleaned houses to put me through school. We came from the same world. But he saw her as a victim to be protected, and me as an ungrateful shrew. The injustice of it was a bitter taste in my mouth, worse than the pesto.