"Your uterus hasn't healed well. There's mild intrauterine adhesion. You'll need a minor surgery to remove it."

"Still no family member coming? Someone has to sign and take responsibility for the procedure."

I picked up the pen on the desk and wrote my own name in the family-member field of the consent form.

"No family. I can take responsibility for myself."

Just like that afternoon a month ago, the one with the hemorrhage.

I signed alone. I lay down on the cold operating table alone.

Fully conscious, I felt every scrape of the cold instruments inside my body.

Tears slid from the corners of my eyes and soaked into the sterile pillow cloth.

By the time I walked out of the hospital, the sky had gone pitch black.

A minor surgery didn't require admission.

But with every step, my lower belly dragged with a pain like knives twisting inside me.

Outside, the rain came down hard, out of nowhere.

A December winter rain, cold enough to cut to the bone.

I couldn't get a cab at the hospital entrance.

On the ride app, more than eighty people were ahead of me in the queue.

I gripped the iron pole of the bus stop sign, in too much pain to straighten my back.

A familiar black sedan rolled slowly past in front of me.

The window was halfway down for air.

I saw clearly that Timothy was sitting in the driver's seat.

In the passenger seat, Sheila was hugging a purple plush toy, laughing so hard she was doubled over.

Timothy turned his head, pulled out a tissue, and wiped the milk tea from the corner of her mouth with the most effortless, natural motion.

Just like seven years ago, when we'd first started dating, when he used to wipe the ice cream from the corner of my mouth.

I took out my phone and dialed his number.

"What is it? Didn't I say I was busy?"

"Timothy, it's pouring out here. I'm at the entrance of City General Hospital. I just had surgery and I can't get a cab."

Through the curtain of rain, I watched the man in that car up ahead.

He frowned slightly and glanced over at Sheila beside him.

"I'm still out in the suburbs having dinner with a client. I won't be back for a while."

"Find a café nearby and sit for a bit. Call a cab once the rain stops."

And with that, he hung up without a second of hesitation.

The light turned green.

His car eased forward, tires rolling over a puddle.

The muddy water it kicked up landed on my white canvas shoes.

I watched those red taillights vanish completely into the rain.

I didn't cry.

I just quietly opened my contacts and dragged his number into the blocked list.

By the time I got home, I was soaked through.

My bullet train ticket was booked for tomorrow afternoon.

My things were already packed into two large cardboard boxes. A courier company would come to pick them up tomorrow morning.

At eleven-thirty that night, the door lock clicked softly.

Timothy walked in trailing the cold night air.

"How did the follow-up come out?"

"What did the doctor say?"

"Nothing serious." My voice was so calm it surprised even me.

He took a sip of water and went to sit on the edge of the couch.

His gaze swept across the empty coffee table, and his brow knit at once.

"Where'd you put the couple's mugs from the table? I can't find them."

"Threw them out."

"Why would you throw out perfectly good mugs?"

"There was a chip cracked into the rim of that one. Keep it around and it'll cut your mouth."

Timothy stared at me suspiciously for a moment.

"What's gotten into you today? All this snide attitude."

"Are you still mad I didn't come pick you up this afternoon?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, putting on a show of utter exhaustion.

"Leila, can't you cut me some slack? I'm slammed at work every single day. Where would I find the time to revolve around you?"

"Sheila ran into a problem at work today and got chewed out by her supervisor until she cried. She's pretty down."

As your senior from school and an old friend, I could hardly stand by and do nothing."

"You're a grown woman. Can't you show a little sense? Stop throwing tantrums over every petty little thing."

Sense.

I looked at the man in front of me.

Seven years together.

I'd followed him from a leaky basement studio to a luxury apartment.

I'd eaten instant noodles beside him through all-nighters spent grinding out proposals.

On one frigid winter night, when his fever spiked to a hundred and four, I'd carried him on my back for a mile and a half to the ER.

And now he was telling me to show some sense.

"Fine. I'll be understanding."

I looked him straight in the eye and said it, word by word.

Timothy froze.

He probably hadn't expected me to give in so easily.

The irritation drained from his face in an instant, replaced by a mild, gentle expression.

He reached out to pull me into a hug.

"I knew you were always the reasonable one."

I turned my body lightly to the side, slipping out from under his hand.

"I'm exhausted. I'm going to bed."

That night, I slept in the spare bedroom, and I locked the door.

The next morning, I called for a courier early and shipped two cardboard boxes off to my new company in another city.

When Timothy got up, I was sitting on the couch checking the route to the train station.

"I've got meetings at the branch office today. I probably won't be home tonight."

He said it while knotting his tie in front of the mirror.

I already knew. Sheila was going to the branch office today to work on the project.

"Mm." I didn't even look up.

He put on his shoes, walked to the door, rested his hand on the handle, and suddenly paused.

"Oh, right. Next week's your birthday. What do you want? I'll order it ahead of time."

"No need. I've already got everything arranged." My tone was flat.

Timothy didn't catch anything off. He just assumed I'd gotten over my sulk.

"Good, then. Once I get through this busy stretch, I'll spend some real time with you."

The security door slammed shut with a bang, and the apartment went completely silent.

I stood up and tucked the divorce papers I'd signed alone the night before, along with the spare key to the front door, under the coffee table.

I pulled out the little suitcase I'd packed long ago and took one last look around the apartment I'd lived in for three years.

There was only an overwhelming, weightless sense of relief.

The elevator doors slid slowly shut.

With a soft chime.

My phone buzzed.

It was a text from Timothy: "I'm at the office. Sheila said she wants the cake from that place in the East District, so I'll grab some on the way.

I'll order your birthday cake while I'm at it. What flavor do you want?"

I looked at that line on the screen.

Then I tapped Block.

My seven years of youth were officially over.