“You only went on this rescue mission because you’re bored. It’s good you got hurt. Maybe it’ll keep you from shadowing me all the time and giving me no space!”
“Scott, do you like how this sketch turned out?”
The voice of Hannah Levine, sweet and girlish, came through the phone.
“Hold on, I’m coming right now!”
Scott quickly hung up the phone.
On the fifth day of my hospital stay, with my right arm in a cast, I was finally ready to be discharged.
Scott finally decided to reach out.
“When are you coming home? Let’s make some homemade pasta tonight.”
The silent battle was over at last.
In our relationship, he was always the one in control.
He’d shower me with affection when he was happy and pull away into cold silence when he wasn’t.
And I was expected to be at his beck and call, with no right to refuse.
In the past, during our silent treatments, I would anxiously await any sign of reconciliation.
But now, a profound sense of exhaustion washed over me, making everything feel pointless.
“Get ready to leave!”
Maybe feeling a twinge of guilt, he called and said he’d pick me up in forty minutes.
I canceled my hospital meal service and waited from dawn until nightfall.