How many times had it been? One call from Daniel, saying he felt “a little down” or “couldn’t sleep,” and Cassandra would drop everything to be at his side.
But when I was burning with fever, my wound inflamed, and my body close to collapsing, she brushed me off with a simple text: [Drink some hot water. I’ll come over once I’m done.]
But she never came.
Whenever I complained, Cassandra would just frown and scold, “You’re so troublesome, Nathan. Daniel is all alone out here with nobody to rely on. He needs me.”
On our third anniversary, she also promised to go back with me to the little town where we first met.
Excited, I spent weeks planning every detail, but she just completely forgot and even brushed off, “It’s just an anniversary. We can celebrate next time.”
But on Daniel’s birthday, she started preparing half a month early, booked the most expensive restaurant, bought limited-edition gifts, and posted it all over her feed with a caption: [Happy birthday to the most important man in my life.]
Those memories overlapped with the scene right in front of me until I felt utterly drained.
Maybe I should’ve let go a long time ago.
As such, I turned and walked out.