After ten years of dating, I couldn't believe how little he cared about me or the life we had built together. It was painfully clear that the only thing I couldn’t let go of was the love and time I had invested in him.
It took Oscar over two weeks to realize I had been gone. On the day I was discharged from the hospital, he finally called me. His tone was annoyingly cheerful, as if everything was perfectly fine.
“Hey, baby! Have you been staying at your friend’s house these past few days? I’ve been so busy taking care of Angie, Madeline’s dog. Where are you? I’ll come pick you up,” he said, sounding as though he was doing me a favor.
“I’m at the hospital,” I replied, my voice shaky.
“I had surgery-”
Before I could finish my sentence, he hung up.
I stared at the phone in disbelief. When I tried calling him back, I was greeted by a familiar automated message: “The number you have dialed is busy. Please try again later.”
Hours later, Oscar finally called me back. This time, his tone was dismissive, as if he couldn’t care less.
“Sorry, my phone ran out of battery earlier,” he said.