My Girlfriend's Appointed Massage Therapist Was Her First Love

But when my dad suffered a brain hemorrhage and was hospitalized, the usually proactive Cynthia fell silent.

I tentatively suggested she ask Eric for help in reviewing the scans, but she quickly grew impatient.

"Liam, aren't you making things difficult? Eric is a massage therapist; he can't possibly look at brain scans!"

"Cynthia, didn't you say Eric was doing well at the hospital? Can't he help find someone who can?" I nearly begged her, thinking of my father's condition.

"Ugh, are you annoying me? Eric hasn't graduated yet; he wouldn't dare ask those big-shot doctors for favors. Just take a leave and go home to find a doctor there!" Cynthia's tone was icy, her refusal unwavering.

I turned over in frustration.

She claimed Eric wasn't a cardiologist, so he wouldn't help with my dad's scans.

But he wasn't a dermatologist either—why could Cynthia send him intimate photos?

Deep down, I already knew the answer; I just didn't want to face it.

When all possibilities are ruled out, the remaining possibility, no matter how cruel, is the truth.

I sighed heavily, feeling a wave of despair wash over me.