Luxor quickly hung up to placate his little mistress.
On the eighth day of the operation, I put on a cast and sat in a wheelchair.
Coincidentally, Luxor sent me a message.
"Where are you? I'll pick you up for dinner tonight."
He was trying to be conciliatory.
Throughout our relationship, he was always like this—wanting to argue, then wanting to make up. I was always at his beck and call.
I was always the humble one in the relationship, with no right to refuse and no courage to say "no."
After the fire, I finally woke up to how deluded I had been in love.
Every time he sought reconciliation, I was overjoyed, eagerly going back to fawn over him. At least in his eyes, that's what I was.
But this time, I felt nothing inside. Calmly, I replied.
"I'm at the hospital."
In the end, he put down his airs and called me, asked for my location, and told me to wait for him to pick me up.
It was a journey of over an hour from his place to the hospital.
Limping with one leg, I ran around to get discharged, even the nurse nearby couldn't bear to see me like that and advised me not to leave the hospital yet.