Scribbled Over Our Love Story

Rachel stood there, holding Chloe in one arm and a jar of peanut butter in the other, dipping her finger in and forcing it into my baby's mouth.

"Here you go, sweetie! Try some of this yummy stuff!"

"You have to build up their immunity young!"

Griffin's friends were cheering, egging her on.

Brown, sticky peanut butter was smeared all around my daughter's mouth as she wailed. The paste made her gag, her cries turning into terrified, hoarse shrieks. Her tiny limbs flailed inside her swaddle, her face flushing a deep, alarming red as her breathing grew ragged.

Rachel just laughed, tightening her grip on the baby while dipping her finger for more.

"What are you doing!?"

I slapped her hand with all my strength.

The jar of peanut butter flew from her grasp and shattered on the floor.

I snatched Chloe into my arms. She coughed and choked against my shoulder.

"Shh, baby, Mama's here..."

I patted her back, my fingers brushing her little face—it was hot and blotchy, the start of an allergic reaction.

Griffin came in just in time to see me rip the baby from Rachel's arms, sending Rachel stumbling back.

His first instinct was to rush to Rachel. He grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet as he yelled at me.

"Willow, what the hell is wrong with you? Why did you attack her?"

He didn't spare a single glance for our daughter, who was gasping for breath.

I held Chloe tight, my gaze like ice.

"Griffin, why don't you ask your friend what she was just doing?"

"Feeding peanut butter to a three-month-old. Our family has a history of severe allergies! She could have killed her!"

Griffin froze. His eyes swept over the shattered jar, his expression faltering for a moment.

But Rachel was already rubbing her arm, her face a mask of wronged innocence.

"Willow, relax. I had allergies as a kid, my mom even used desensitization therapy. It's not a big deal."

"It makes them tougher! I was just trying to build up her resistance!"

Rage trembled through me. I pulled out my phone. "Hello, 911? I need to report—"

He slapped the phone from my hand, and it clattered to the ground. Griffin stood panting, his chest heaving.

"You're going to call the cops? On a day like today, you want to ruin everything for everyone?"

"Fine, she was wrong, but she didn't mean any harm. Do you have to blow everything out of proportion?"

I looked at him as if he were a stranger.

"Griffin," my voice was hollow, even to my own ears. "This is our daughter. You're an educated man—you know what a severe allergic reaction can do to a baby."

"What's going on here?" Griffin's parents pushed through the crowd, their faces grim.

"It was a perfectly lovely party until you had to cause a scene. What an embarrassment!"

I pointed to the peanut butter on the floor. "Rachel fed Chloe peanut butter. I'm taking her to the hospital."

"Peanut butter?" Griffin's father, Harrison, scoffed.

"You're making a fuss over that? When Griffin was a baby, his grandfather gave him tastes of everything to build up his tolerance. He turned out just fine!"

Griffin's mother, Eleanor, jabbed a finger in my face.

"She's fine! What's the big deal? A little peanut butter won't kill her!"

"Rachel is a good girl, we've known her since she was a child. Don't you dare blame her!"

I looked at Griffin's silence, at his parents twisting reality, at Rachel standing off to the side with a triumphant little smirk.

A wave of nausea washed over me.

I took a deep breath and turned for the door.

Griffin called out, "Where are you going?"

"To the hospital." I didn't look back. "And if there's anything wrong with her, Rachel, I swear to God, this isn't over."

Thank God—Chloe had barely ingested any. But she was still terrified and fussy.

My friend Romeo put down his stethoscope, breathing a sigh of relief.

"What happened? I thought today was Chloe's welcome party."

When I didn't answer, he didn't push. He just picked up a small pink box from his desk and handed it to me.

"I had an important meeting and couldn't make it." His voice was warm. "This is for Chloe."

While I sat with the baby in the observation room, a text from Griffin lit up my phone: How is she? My parents said you were overreacting, running to the ER over nothing.

I didn't reply. I just turned off my phone.

At one in the morning, I walked into our silent home, holding Chloe.

Standing in the middle of my living room was Rachel, wearing my favorite silk robe.

She saw me and let out an exaggerated gasp. "Oh!"

"You're back! I didn't pack a change of clothes, so Griffin let me borrow yours. You don't mind, do you?"