A nurse came in to adjust my IV drip and checked the monitor. “Your anaphylactic response was severe,” she said gently. “We’re keeping you under observation at least twenty-four more hours.”
Kate chose that moment to step closer. “Olivia, I’m so sorry,” she said, voice shaking. “I had no idea.”
I looked at her and felt something complicated swell in my chest. Not just anger. Not just relief. A mixture of old hurt and new boundaries forming.
“You did have an idea,” I said quietly. “You just didn’t believe it mattered.”
Kate’s face crumpled.
Dr. Patel glanced between us and then spoke, practical again. “I’m having the nurse bring educational packets about FPIES and anaphylaxis. I strongly recommend the whole family reads them and takes a training course on EpiPen use and food safety.”
When the doctor left, the room filled with a heavy silence. The monitor beeped. The air conditioner hummed.
My mom finally spoke, voice small. “Why didn’t you push harder? Why didn’t you insist on seeing a doctor?”
For a second I thought I misheard. The question hit me like a slap.