We missed the crucial treatment window; my family succumbed to complications, starting with my grandparents and moving to my younger siblings and aunts.
I had always known about John's first love, but I couldn't believe he'd abandon us to celebrate her birthday overseas.
That night after he ended the call with me, my phone displayed a painful reminder—a post from John, showing a woman with a diamond ring.
The caption read bitterly, "True lovers never part."
I blocked John and started arranging the funerals.
After hours in the cemetery, dizziness overcame me as I tried to stand.
"Emily? What are you doing here?"
Having thought I misheard my name, I turned and saw the familiar face of John Garcia. He was back.
Annoyance was clear on his face as he asked, "Are you following me now?"
He referred to how I used to call his assistant when he came home late, checking on him.
Since our HIV diagnosis and his disappearance, I had pleaded for more medicine.
To him, my constant worry was just obsessive and invasive.
Not wanting to argue, I attempted to leave, but Jessica Hernandez, by his side, stopped me.