Mason yanked me back so hard I stumbled off the stairs and collapsed onto the floor. "Faith just graduated! Show some respect and stop ignoring her!"
I hit the ground hard. The impact sent a sharp, grinding pain through my knee.
Garrett frowned. "Willow, I'm the one who decided to change the plans. This has nothing to do with Faith. If you're unhappy, be mad at me. Don't take it out on her."
Sprawled on the floor, the sharp, grinding pain in my knee was nothing compared to the crushing ache in my chest.
"Don't be mad at Willow," Faith said, dabbing the corner of her eye with a tissue. "It's all my fault. I shouldn't have used her wedding for my project. If I had just chosen a different topic, none of this would have happened."
Through my blurry, tear-filled vision, I saw the tiny, cold smirk playing on her lips.
"What are you talking about? This is for your career. The wedding she planned was too small anyway. This isn't on you," Mason said dismissively.
He glared down at me, his face a mask of impatience. "You love throwing tantrums, don't you? Fine. You can have one all by yourself."
Mason hauled me up from the floor and shoved me into the basement home theater beside the stairs.
Panic flared in my chest. I scrambled for the doorknob, but before my fingers could grasp it, I heard the heavy click of the lock from the other side.
He had locked me in.
"Stay in there," Mason's voice came through the door, cold and muffled. "You can come out when you've learned how to behave."
"No! Please, let me out!" I screamed, pounding on the door. "I'm allergic to peanuts! I need my EpiPen!"
But his voice was already moving away, calling for Faith.
"I booked us a table at that new Michelin-starred place. It's getting late, we should head out!" he announced cheerfully.
"But Willow…"
"She'll be fine. A few hours in there will teach her a lesson," Mason replied.
"Yeah, her temper is out of control," my father chimed in. "A little time-out might do her some good. I'll bring her back some of her favorite dessert later."
"Let's go, Garrett," my mother added. "A few hours won't hurt her."
In an instant, sheer terror consumed me. I slammed my fists against the thick, soundproof door, screaming, "I'm not angry anymore! I'm sorry! I'll apologize to Faith! Just let me out! Please, I can't breathe! I'm going to die in here!"
My voice grew hoarse, turning into desperate, gasping sobs, but the house had already fallen silent.
I collapsed to the floor. The itching had spread from my back to my face, and a terrifying tightness was closing around my throat.
My parents watched me drink that milkshake. They knew I was allergic. And still, they forgot.
They remembered Faith’s favorite upscale restaurant but forgot that I had ingested what could be a lethal dose of peanuts only minutes ago.
Desperation forced me back to my feet. I twisted the doorknob with all my strength, but it was locked solid from the outside.
I frantically searched my pockets, but my phone must have fallen out when Mason grabbed me.
An angry red rash was now blooming across my body. My face was swelling, my vision blurring. Worse, every breath was a desperate, painful struggle.
If I didn't get out, I was going to die in this theater.
As I groped around in the dark, searching for anything to pry the lock open, my fingers brushed against my phone, which had skittered into a corner.
A wave of relief washed over me as my trembling hands closed around it.
But, true to form, my parents, my brother, and Garrett didn't answer my calls.
Then, a text from Mason lit up the screen.
"Don't even think about joining us. You'll just ruin Faith's celebration."
Tears I could no longer feel streamed from my swelling eyes. How could I have ever held out any hope for them?
Finally, my trembling fingers dialed 911.
Every second stretched into an eternity. My airway was constricting, and each gasp for air was a monumental effort. I barely held on, managing only to rasp out my address to the operator.
Just as the home theater door was finally broken down, my world faded to black.