Married to a Man Who Couldn’t Bear My Touch

Everyone knew my husband, Max Kennedy, was allergic to women, including me. On our wedding day, when I leaned in with a shy smile to kiss the corner of his lips, he kicked me off the bed.

His face turned pale, and he began vomiting uncontrollably. That night, he moved into the study.

In five years of marriage, we never shared a bed. I lived like a virus in my own home.

Whenever we went out, I had to keep at least two meters between us, and even indoors, I covered myself in raincoats and gloves, terrified that a single touch might harm him.