I Don't Love Her Anymore, She Regrets It

All day, I buried myself in work like never before. I’d never been so focused.

While I was nervously waiting for results in my small Boston hotel room, I prepared for the worst.

If it turned out to be stomach cancer, my salary and health insurance could at least cover the first couple of years of treatment.

It hit me then how much time and energy I’d wasted on Vivian, and how little I’d put into my job, which was actually what could save my life.

I regretted it. From now on, I promised myself I’d work harder and earn more.

During my lunch break, I saw a message from Vivian saying she’d pick me up after work.

I replied with a simple. [Okay.]

After work, I saw her car parked downstairs.

It was a car we had bought together, but she had claimed it was inconvenient for a girl like her to take the bus, so she kept it while I’d never driven it.

This was also the first time she’d come to pick me up.

Six months ago, during a heavy rainstorm, I begged her to pick me up from work because I couldn’t get a cab.

She refused and didn’t even care when I came home drenched.

I got into the passenger seat and noticed a cigarette pack there.

I picked it up and, under Vivian’s watchful eye, casually tossed it into the glove compartment.

I didn’t smoke, but Howard did. He could stay up all night smoking because of his depression.

Vivian quickly explained, “I once drove him to the hospital, and he must have left it behind. His parents were with us too.”

I shrugged. “Oh, okay.”

My tone was flat, like she was just another colleague or acquaintance.

Vivian kept staring at me, which made me uneasy.

She used to hardly look at me, and now that she did, it was irritating.

The ride was quiet.

I picked up my phone out of boredom and scrolled through it.

I saw a bunch of seafood recipes and suddenly craved seafood. I thought about buying some soon and cooking it at home.

A plate of seafood, a glass of wine, and watching TV sounded like a perfect evening.