After their lovey-dovey exchange, the call ended. Without needing Vincent to say anything, I pointed to the intersection ahead.
"Just drop me off at the next corner."
The car stopped by the side of the road. I hurriedly got out and left, not bothering to hide my urgency.
Only after the car was out of sight did I clutch my abdomen, drenched in cold sweat, feeling as if I might collapse onto the pavement.
Two months ago, Vincent had called me saying he'd forgotten an important document.
I rushed to his office with the file.
On the way, a speeding truck overturned and crushed me after an emergency brake.
Though I survived, my left leg was shattered due to the impact.
In the agony of the pain and fear of potential lasting damage, I called Vincent countless times.
However, his phone was always off.
Later, I found out he had flown to Paris because the girl he was with had never seen French pigeons.
He spent an entire week there with her.
Fearing for my parents' worry, I didn't tell them. It was my friend Emilia Clarke who helped me through the surgery and recovery.
At that moment, I decided I was done with that useless man.