On New Year's Eve, I'd just taken antibiotics for a high fever when my husband dragged me to the family reunion dinner. As everyone raised their glasses, I explained that I couldn't drink alcohol after taking the medication.
That's when my husband's adopted sister poured me a glass of what looked like juice.
"Here, Queenie Simmons—just toast with this instead."
Under my husband's watchful gaze, I downed the drink in one gulp.
The moment I finished, she let out a cold laugh.
"I mixed half a glass of liquor into that. See? You're perfectly fine. You were just looking for an excuse to snub our family, weren't you? Too bad for you—I don't let anyone get away with that."
My heart raced. I couldn't breathe. I spent three days in the hospital having my stomach pumped, hovering between life and death.
To "apologize," she offered to take care of me during my recovery. When I had a video conference with a business partner, I specifically asked her not to disturb me.
Halfway through the meeting, she barged into my room blasting music from a portable speaker, dancing like she was at a street fair.
The client terminated our partnership on the spot. The company lost tens of millions. I lost my job.
When I confronted her, she didn't even flinch.
"This is my brother's house. Why can't I go wherever I want? You think you can boss me around? I don't let anyone get away with that."
My husband made her apologize. For his sake, I let it go. When she offered to cook for me, I reminded her to turn off the gas when she was done—otherwise it could be dangerous.
She got me drunk. Then she turned on the gas valve and locked me in the kitchen.
"Trying to tell me what to do? I don't let anyone get away with that."
I suffocated to death on that kitchen floor.
When I opened my eyes again, it was the Lantern Festival.
——
"Queenie, dinner's ready! Come eat!"
That voice. I knew that voice.
The realization hit me like ice water—I had been reborn.
Corinne Swanson stood at the door, calling me with that same sweet persistence.
Before I could gather my thoughts, my husband Calvin Swanson nudged my arm.
"Queenie, Corinne's talking to you. Are you deaf?"
I found my voice quickly.
"I have a cold and fever. I'm not eating."
The next second, Corinne pushed the door open and walked in, a box of antibiotics in her hand.
"I bought these just for you. Take them and come eat—everyone's waiting. It's the Lantern Festival! The whole family has to eat together."
In my past life, I hadn't wanted to upset anyone. I'd taken the antibiotics and followed her to dinner like an obedient fool.
When the family raised their glasses, I'd explained that I couldn't drink alcohol after taking medication.
Corinne had poured me a glass of "juice."
"Just toast with this instead."
I'd downed it without a second thought. And she'd smiled—that triumphant, venomous smile.
"I mixed half a glass of liquor into that. See? You're perfectly fine. You just wanted to snub our family and show us who's boss. Too bad—I don't let anyone get away with that."
Three days in the ICU. Stomach pumped. Clinging to life by a thread.
The memory made my whole body tremble with rage.
Corinne stared at me, her voice dripping with false concern.
"Take your medicine, Queenie. Unless... you're deliberately trying to avoid eating with us?"
Calvin shot me an impatient look.
"It's a holiday. Can you stop making everything difficult? What's the big deal about having dinner?"
I closed my fingers around the medicine box.
"I'll take it before bed. Let's go eat first."
Corinne's expression shifted instantly to wounded innocence, her eyes wide and glistening.
"Do you hate me, Queenie? I went out of my way to buy that medicine for you, and you won't even take it. Did I do something wrong? Just tell me—I'll change, I promise."
