“Scott, do you like how this sketch turned out?”
The voice of Hannah Levine, sweet and girlish, came through the phone.
“Hold on, I’m coming right now!”
Scott quickly hung up the phone.
On the fifth day of my hospital stay, with my right arm in a cast, I was finally ready to be discharged.
Scott finally decided to reach out.
“When are you coming home? Let’s make some homemade pasta tonight.”
The silent battle was over at last.
In our relationship, he was always the one in control.
He’d shower me with affection when he was happy and pull away into cold silence when he wasn’t.
And I was expected to be at his beck and call, with no right to refuse.
In the past, during our silent treatments, I would anxiously await any sign of reconciliation.
But now, a profound sense of exhaustion washed over me, making everything feel pointless.
“Get ready to leave!”
Maybe feeling a twinge of guilt, he called and said he’d pick me up in forty minutes.
I canceled my hospital meal service and waited from dawn until nightfall.
Scott never showed up and didn’t call again.
Just like so many times before, he disappeared without a word, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary.
As I got into a cab with my arm in a cast, I saw that Hannah had updated her social media.
“You’re like a treasure, always surprising me. I can’t wait to see what else there is to discover…”
In the photo, Scott was wearing an apron, pretending to make homemade pasta.
The hands I once cherished and was reluctant to let do any household chores were now busy preparing a meal for another woman.
I managed a silent smile, but the weariness surged back, clinging to me like a shadow.
The allure of the dream lover was truly formidable, and all I could do was watch from the sidelines.
I struggled to open the door with my uninjured arm.
The apartment still looked the same as when I’d rushed out for the rescue mission.
Scott still hadn’t returned.
Hungry and unable to use my injured hand, I was afraid of burning myself, so I could only manage to make a bowl of instant noodles with lukewarm water.
As I took a bite, tears began to flow uncontrollably.
They started as a trickle and soon turned into a steady stream.
I hadn’t cried when he was missing, I hadn’t cried while leading the rescue team, I hadn’t cried when everyone urged me to stay strong, and I hadn’t cried when a falling rock hit my arm, causing excruciating pain.