When I saw the date on that last post, goosebumps crawled across every inch of my skin.
That was a day I would never forget as long as I lived.
We'd been watching the sunset from a mountaintop. He got a phone call from the hospital, and just like that, he abandoned me on the side of the road and rushed off.
That night, on my way home alone, I was nearly assaulted.
When Herman picked me up at the police station, saw me shaking and disheveled, he dropped to his knees and said he was sorry.
All those nights afterward, every time I jolted awake from a nightmare, I'd lie there wondering why he'd left me behind.
I told myself over and over: He's a doctor. He had something more important to deal with. He doesn't belong to me alone.
But now, seeing the perfect score he'd given someone else, I finally understood that what he'd given me didn't even earn a passing grade.
He could belong to his patients. He could belong to his ex. The only person he could never belong to was me.
Click.
The bedroom door swung open.
He saw my red, swollen eyes and reached out, his fingers gentle against my face.
"Did someone give you a hard time?"
I shifted slightly, pulling away from his touch.