Chapter 1

The first thing that hit me was the smoke. It was thick, acrid, and it burned my eyes. It wasn't the smell of a cozy fireplace. This was something else, something bitter and heavy. My son, Caleb, only three years old, coughed beside me, a small, weak sound that tore through the noise of the crackling embers in the metal brazier.

"Jen, please," I begged, my voice raw. "Look at him. He can't breathe."

My wife, Jennifer, stood at the heavy oak door of the wine cellar. She wouldn't look at me. Her gaze was fixed on Ryan, her brother-in-law, who stood just behind her, a hand on her shoulder.

"It's for Molly's sake, Andrew," Jennifer said, her voice flat, devoid of the warmth I once loved. "The guru said Caleb's energy... it's what caused her asthma attack. We have to cleanse it."

The "guru" was some new-age fraud Ryan had found. The "asthma attack" was Molly being dramatic on Caleb's birthday. But Jennifer believed it all. She believed Ryan.

"That's nonsense, and you know it," I rasped, pulling Caleb closer. His little body was trembling. "He has a severe peanut allergy, Jen. His lungs are sensitive. This smoke is dangerous for him."

I tried to appeal to the woman I married, the woman who once looked at me like I was her entire world. "Jen, this is our son. Our little boy."

For a second, her expression wavered. Her jaw tightened, and her eyes flickered toward Caleb, who was now wheezing, his small chest heaving with effort. A flicker of hope ignited in my chest. She was his mother. She had to see.

But then Ryan squeezed her shoulder. He leaned in and whispered something in her ear, his expression a mask of practiced grief. "Think of my poor Molly, Jen. All alone without her mother. I can't lose her too. I just can't."

The flicker of hope in me died. Jennifer's face hardened again, becoming a perfect, cold mask. The love, the hesitation, it was all gone, replaced by a chilling resolve.

"The guru said it needs to be prolonged," she stated, her voice like ice. She threw another massive bundle of sage and cedar onto the glowing embers. A fresh wave of thick, choking smoke billowed out, filling the small space.

"We're leaving for the Caribbean," she announced, not to me, but to the room. "Ryan and Molly need a break. It's been so hard for them."

She started to close the heavy door.

"Jennifer, no! Don't do this!" I screamed, scrambling toward the door, dragging a coughing Caleb with me.

The door slammed shut. The heavy bolt slid into place with a deafening thud.

I was alone with my son in a sealed room, the smoke getting thicker, the air getting thinner. And I finally understood. I wasn't her husband. Caleb wasn't her son. We were just obstacles. My heart felt as dead and cold as the stone floor beneath my knees. Her retreating footsteps were the sound of my world ending.