As I lay alone at night, staring at the hospital ceiling, looking at that photo of him and Lily Summers, I finally realized that some love, no matter how humbly offered, would never bloom.
The weather in my heart, whether sunny or stormy, was no longer under Ethan's control.
"I'm sorry.
"Lily has depression. She was crying and throwing fits, I..."
Ethan began to explain, but I cut him off, tired of hearing the same old excuses. "Enough, I know what you're going to say."
Every time, it was the same tale of how miserable Lily was and how much she needed help.
But wasn't I miserable too? Didn't I need support?
Three months ago, Ethan was chatting with Lily, not paying attention, and ran a red light just as a car sped by.
I pushed him out of the way, getting hit myself, resulting in two surgeries to place steel plates in my legs.
Seeing my cold demeanor, Ethan looked taken aback, a flicker of confusion and embarrassment in his eyes.
"I'll help you into the car."
"No need," I refused.
When I first got injured, Ethan helped with everything.
But one time, while he was on the phone with Lily, I asked him to fetch something for me. He snapped, "Can't you do it yourself?"