He Gave My Medicine to His Mistress While I Signed for My Own Surgery

The parking space was something we'd bought together, but it was registered in my name. Since I was leaving, I wouldn't take a single thread that tied me to him.

After finishing the paperwork, I stopped at the bakery near the complex gates and bought a hot soy milk. The moment I turned around, I saw Timothy's black sedan idling at the curb.

He climbed out of the driver's seat, two steaming cups of century-egg congee in his hands. Sheila leaned out from the passenger window, her smile bright as morning sunlight.

"Thank you, Timothy, for waiting in line to get me breakfast!"

He reached over and ruffled her hair, his voice gentler than I'd ever heard it.

"Eat it while it's hot. I'll drive you to work after."

I stood behind the bakery's steamers. White curls of heat blurred my vision.

That congee came from the East District, notoriously hard to get. Timothy hated waiting in line more than anything. Back when he took me to a movie, even five extra minutes in a queue could set him off.

But for Sheila, he'd cross half the city through morning rush hour and stand in line for thirty minutes.

I remembered two weeks ago, when I'd just come home from surgery. I lay in bed, too sore to move, and told him I wanted the congee from the East District.

He sat on the couch playing his game, not even lifting his head.

"That's too far. It's over an hour round trip. Just order delivery."

When the delivery finally came, the congee had congealed into a cold lump. I forced down a few bites, fighting the nausea, and threw all of it back up.

Timothy didn't so much as set down his phone.

"Why are you so high-maintenance? A little cold won't kill you."

So he wasn't incapable of tenderness.

It was just that the person he cherished had never been me.

I dropped that untouched cup of hot soy milk into the trash can beside me.

Then I turned and went home.

That afternoon, I started erasing every trace of myself from the apartment. The matching couples' toothbrushes on the sink—I threw mine away. The his-and-hers slippers by the door went into the trash bag too. The little pickled dishes I'd made for him, still in the fridge, I poured all of them out.

Watching the rooms grow emptier, piece by piece, I felt nothing at all.

Just as I sealed the first cardboard box, the hospital called.

"Miss Pruitt, the results from your follow-up after the D&C are in. They're not good."

"You'll need to come in with a family member."

My hand froze on the tape gun.

"Can't I just come by myself?"

"We'd recommend bringing a family member, because we may need to do a minor procedure on the spot, and we'll need a relative to sign."

I was silent for two seconds.

I drew a deep breath and dialed Timothy.

The phone rang a long time before he picked up. The background was loud—cheerful electronic music, a roar of voices.

"What is it?"

There was an edge of impatience in his voice.

"The hospital wants me to come in for the follow-up results. They said it's not good, and they need a family member to come sign."

"Can you come?"

The line went quiet for two seconds.

"Didn't I tell you I'm out scouting an event venue with a client?"

"It's nothing serious, and you still need a family member there? Are you a three-year-old?"

He didn't even ask what wasn't good.

Right then, Sheila's voice rang out beside him, crisp and coaxing.

"Timothy, isn't this Stella Lou plushie cute? Will you grab it for me? Please?"

I heard it.

But I didn't call him out.

"Fine. Got it."

I hung up calmly.

And took a cab to the hospital alone.

The doctor watched me walk in by myself and let out a sigh.