As soon as she pressed the button, Bart's furious voice lasted from the phone, "Emma Madison, are you crazy? What gave you the right to slap Karen?"
"Sir! The patient has severe second-degree burns and is about to undergo a skin graft,” the young nurse cut in coldly with an indignant manner. “What kind of boyfriend are you?”
“So just because she’s injured, she thinks she can hit people? Put Emma on the phone now!” Bart barked.
"You're crazy!" the nurse snapped back and ended the call.
My chapped lips curled into a bitter smile. It was impossible to save a relationship where even if you were hanging yourself, he would just assume you were playing on the swings.
Then I was wheeled into the operating room in my blue and white hospital gown, prepared for the skin graft on my right arm.
I was all alone, every step of the way.
To pass the time during my recovery, I scrolled through social media and found a post on Karen’s feed. In the picture, she pouted cutely while Bart applied some antiseptics to her face. She had written a caption, “I got slapped by a mean dog. This guy insisted on avenging me. What am I supposed to do without him?”