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“Oh, my God! What happened?” she screamed in horror as she stepped inside his hospital room. The hospital gown, bags of I.V., and grayish, clammy skin were not what she expected to see.

Dante reached for her hand.

“Why are you panicking? I’m the one in the hospital. What do you have there?” Dante asked as he looked at the thick manila envelope tucked under Myla’s arm.

“Oh, this? Just a file from work. I was so scared when you called that I grabbed everything and left,” Myla lied as she tucked the envelope in her large purse. There was no need to ask him anything now. Asking questions about a scorned lover wasn’t important. “What happened to you?”

“I don’t know, but whatever it was, it was bad. My body doesn’t react like normal people. The doctor said most people would have collapsed sooner. But I’m a fighter and pushed through. I couldn’t keep anything down. I’ve been throwing up so badly that my stomach cramped. The doctor said I was so dehydrated that she was surprised I didn’t go into shock and organ failure. As I said, I’m a fighter. I fought to stay here for us. I knew you wouldn’t make it without me.”

Myla clutched her pearls. She hadn’t expected to hear something so grim. She was so focused on his ailment that she missed the parts of his speech that showed her as someone weak and inferior.

“Oh, my God. Baby, what do you need?”

“I can answer that,” said the doctor who walked into Dante’s room. “I’m Dr. Rhodes, and for the next few days Mr. Helgard will need adult supervision. We aren’t sure what actually caused the vomiting and infection. I’ve prescribed him some Cefdinir antibiotics for the infection and Zofran for the nausea and vomiting. We’re still running tests to determine the root cause. However, I feel comfortable releasing him with supervision.”

“Of course. Whatever he needs,” Myla volunteered quickly. In the state that he was in, she refused to leave him alone. She didn’t care that she was angry a moment ago; the only thing that she cared about was getting him better.

Four Weeks Later

Myla walked into her home and cringed at the sight of it. Her home had always been her sanctuary, her place of peace. Now it wasn’t. Never had she ever walked into her home and felt so much heaviness. She hated this feeling. She had enough chaos at work; she did not want that feeling in her home.

Dirty dishes on the all-white table, Dorito chip bags on the floor, a random pair of dirty socks on the couch, and what looked like handprints on her wall. Depression instantly swept over her at the condition of her once pristine home. As she looked at the carnage that was her living room, she couldn’t understand how this was now her life. As she looked at the mess, she thought back to the moment she knew things had changed.

“Why is she calling me?” Myla frowned when she saw her housekeeper’s name and number on her phone’s screen. Ms. Herrera only called when she couldn’t come in, or if she’d arrive late. Since she was already in her home, she couldn’t fathom why Ms. Herrera was calling. Curiously, and somewhat hesitantly, Myla answered the call.

“Hi, Ms. Herr—”

“Señora Pleasant. I work in your home for a long time, yes?”

Myla’s stomach dropped. She didn’t know why quite yet, but she knew that Ms. Herrera was not the type of person to interrupt a greeting with a pointless question.

Nor was she the type to scream into the phone like a jilted lover. She was the type to put her headphones on, listen to opera, and clean. Myla already knew she didn’t like what was about to be discussed on this call.

“Yes, ma’am. It’s been ten fabulous years. You’ve been great!”

“I no longer work for you. I quit! I don’t need this!” Ms. Herrera shouted angrily. Her thick Colombian accent and the rushed way she spoke let Myla know one thing: Ms. Herrera was angry.

The only time she had ever heard this tone from Ms. Herrera was when she overheard a conversation between Ms. Herrera and her ex-husband. Myla was confused. She could not understand what she had done to elicit such a response.

“Ms. Herrera, did you say quit?! What do you mean? Quit for what? What happened?” Myla asked frantically.

“Myla, you are a smart, educated woman. You have no business being with that man. As long as that man is in your house, I will not be. You call me when he’s gone!”

“I should’ve never invited him here,” Myla said as she thought of all the things that had changed since meeting Dante and inviting him into her home. To this day, she still had no idea what set Ms. Herrera off. Though she didn’t want to, Myla had to admit to herself that letting him into her space was the worst thing she could’ve done.

Eight days after she took him home from the hospital, shock nearly crippled her when she found a bottle of ipecac syrup in his pocket. She stared at it as if it were foreign. It was the only thing she could think of doing after seeing medication that had been out of production since 2010.

“This motherfucker played me,” Myla stated at the realization of what Dante had done. He had used her love for him as a tool to control her actions and get back in her good graces.

“Dante!” Myla screamed as she stormed into her bedroom like a bat out of hell. Fury had given her wings. “Dante, what the fuck is this?”

Dante paused for half a second when the door burst open, before closing the app he was viewing. He took just long enough to make it seem like he hadn’t been doing anything wrong.

“What’s up, Babe?”

“What the fuck is this?” Myla asked as she threw the small bottle of Swan Ipecac Syrup on the bed. Fire danced in her eyes as she tapped her feet impatiently.

Dante looked at the brown bottle as if he had never seen it before. Picking it up with two fingers, he stared at it quizzically before asking, “What’s this?”