So much so that everyone in the hospital, except for a small group of colleagues in our respective departments, thought I was just a shameless, persistent simp he couldn't shake off.
I was given nicknames and had hot soup thrown on me by his admirers.
They cornered me in an empty restroom and dumped a bucket of toads on my head.
They gleefully enjoyed my screams and sobs, calling me shameless for dreaming of marrying a swan.
Countless times I hoped Maximo would step forward and explain, but he always impatiently dismissed me, "It's just a few words, it won't hurt you. If you're so dramatic, don't be a doctor."
But when a blunt intern commented that Matilda’s “torrential rain syndrome” seemed fake, the next day, that doctor vanished from the city entirely.
I realized then that he wasn't incapable of protecting people, it was just that the person worthy of his protection was never me.
Clutching my empty heart, I silently laughed through my tears.
How ironic.
The title I couldn't obtain in life, no matter how hard I tried, was easily obtained after death.
Maximo ignored the nurses' astonished expressions, suppressing the panic in his heart and strode towards his office.