It's Over Between Us, Dr. Frank

Tony finally realized I had stopped telling him everything.

When the company assigned me to a business trip, I signed the papers immediately without consulting him.

When my best friend invited couples to her wedding, I attended alone and gave her a nice wedding gift.

Even when I fell ill and needed surgery, I booked the appointment without his consent.

As a doctor, Tony frowned when he found out about the surgery.

"Why didn't you tell me you were sick? Give me your medical records, I'll arrange everything for you."

Without a second thought, I replied, "No need. I can handle it myself, I don't want to trouble you. Thank you."

The moment the words left my mouth, both of us froze.

Less than a month ago...

I was completely dependent on him.

Back then, I couldn't even choose an outfit for a date or decide what to eat for lunch without texting him first.

"Surgery tomorrow? Why the rush?"

My attending physician handed me my medical chart, his tone laced with confusion.

"Dr. Frank will be back from his business trip soon. Why don't you wait for him to return so that he can accompany you?"

"This is my personal matter," I interrupted softly. "I can handle it myself."

The doctor looked at me in surprise.

After all, I was known as a fragile woman around here.

Even for minor issues like a headache or a mild fever, I would stubbornly cling to Tony and insist he stayed by my side.

The moment I stepped out of the consultation room, I ran straight into a familiar figure.

Tony was wheeling a suitcase with one hand.

He looked as if he had rushed straight to the hospital the moment his flight landed.

As always, Yvonne was right by his side.

Draped over her shoulders was a black cashmere overcoat, the same one I gifted Tony for our third anniversary.

Tony frowned the moment he saw me.

"What are you doing here? Are you sick again?"

Again?

His tone carried a familiar, deep-seated impatience.

It made me feel as if I was just a troublesome chore that always needed urgent handling.

He snatched the medical chart from my hands and scanned it briefly.

He ordered, "I have things to do tomorrow. Change your surgery time to next week so that I will be able to go with you."

Without thinking twice, I spilled, "No need. I can handle it myself, I don't want to trouble you. Thank you."

The excessive politeness and sudden distance left Tony visibly stunned.

After all, the old me would have cried and begged for his comfort over a simple paper cut.

I used to bombard his phone with messages every single day, forcing him to pick out my outfits.

From something as small as my three daily meals to life's biggest decisions, I always consulted Tony first.

Yet here I was, facing a surgical procedure alone without batting an eye.

If we hadn't crossed paths by pure chance, he, my boyfriend, wouldn't have even known about it.

I grabbed my medical chart back.

In the process, I accidentally knocked a medicine box out of Tony's hand.

The name of the medication came clearly into view.

It was a box of... contraceptives.

"Don't misunderstand," Tony said as he bent down to pick it up.

His voice had returned to its usual professional, detached tone.

"Yvonne suffers from severe dysmenorrhea. This is a common medication used to alleviate the pain."

Yvonne pulled the oversized coat tighter around herself.

She explained with a soft and flustered voice, "I'm so sorry, Mary. Dr. Frank was actually on his way home.

“It's all my fault for being so useless. The pain was so bad that I could barely stand, so I troubled him to come with me to get this prescription."

She paused, her tone shifting to one of sincere envy.

"I wish I could be as independent as you, Mary. That way, Dr. Frank wouldn't have to work so hard running around for me."

I remembered a time when my abdomen was in excruciating pain, I asked Tony which department I should register for.

I was surprised by what Tony, the youngest deputy chief of neurology at a top-tier hospital told me.

He said he didn't know.

Whenever I complained about his dismissiveness, he would pinch the bridge of his nose.

With deep exhaustion, he would look at me as if I were a child throwing a tantrum.

“Can’t you look up minor things like this yourself?”

“You’re an adult. Can’t you be a little more independent?

“Stop relying on me like a giant infant all the time.

“I’m not your parent. It’s not my obligation to teach you basic life skills.”

How hilarious.

He was a man of few words if it was about me, his girlfriend.

But he could personally escort his junior to a consultation and picked up her medication.

To outsiders, Yvonne looked much more like his girlfriend than I did.

If this had happened in the past, I wouldn't have been able to suppress my temper.

I would have started a massive fight right then and there.

But now, I simply let out calmly and indifferently, "Oh."

My voice didn't even show a single ripple of emotion.