I didn't move into the luxury apartment my father had bought long ago. Instead, I squeezed into a tiny studio near the hospital with her.
We once had a genuinely sweet period.
In the mornings, when I refused to get out of bed, Rachel would coax me, even helping me brush my teeth and wash my face.
In the evenings after work, we'd hold hands and go grocery shopping together.
Curled up on the couch watching TV, I'd hold her in my arms while she fed me fruit she had peeled herself.
But after Tyler returned to the country, everything changed.
He became Rachel's one and only priority.
The car she bought with her first paycheck—its passenger seat became Tyler's exclusive spot.
"Home is so close to the hospital anyway," she'd say casually. "Walking a bit counts as exercise for you."
One night after a late shift, I was followed by a deranged patient.
My hands were shaking, I called Rachel and begged her to come pick me up—but she was on her way to Tyler's place instead.
"Tyler caught a cold and has a terrible headache. He can only stomach the ginger tea I make," she said impatiently.
"Can you stop being jealous and unreasonable at a time like this?"