Before long, Ryan called, sounding a bit rattled. "Why didn't you tell me you were in the hospital? If Yvette hadn't told me, I'd have never known."
I replied calmly, "We're getting divorced, Ryan. Why would I need to tell you? Besides, it's just a minor procedure."
Hearing this, his breathing slowed, and his tone became unreadable. "Fine, but take it easy during the surgery. I'll come see you right after the awards ceremony."
I didn't respond. I just hung up the phone.
By the time he arrived, my surgery was over, and I'd woken up from anesthesia. He propped me up in bed and handed me a glass of water.
"Here, drink some. Your lips are chapped," he said gently, then added, "Why did you suddenly get sick?"
The hint of doubt in his voice made it clear he thought I might be faking this illness for sympathy.
I pointed toward the door. "If you think I'm lying, feel free to leave. I'll be fine without you."
He hesitated for a second but eventually sat back down, speaking in a lower voice. "That's not what I meant."
I rolled my eyes, too exhausted to argue. Fresh out of anesthesia, my head was spinning, and the pain in my body reminded me that my health was all that mattered now.