Hours later, Ryan finally showed up, casually chatting with a nurse, coffee in hand, as if nothing serious had happened. When I confronted him, he dismissed my pain, saying he thought I was exaggerating. Lying in that hospital bed, I realized something painful—I wasn’t angry anymore. I wasn’t even sad. I just felt empty.That night, as he lay beside me in bed, scrolling through his phone without a care, something inside me whispered: check. I had never gone through his phone before, never felt the need to. But when I did, my world shattered.

Messages with other women, flirty emojis, compliments he had never given me. Tinder installed. No texts to his boss about taking time off for me. No concern for the fact that I had nearly died.The next morning, I made an appointment with a divorce lawyer. Not out of anger or impulse, but out of pure clarity. There was nothing left to fight for. Ryan carried on as if nothing had changed, but I had made my decision. I started looking for an apartment, knowing it wouldn’t be easy, but I had to go.He had left me alone when I needed him the most. Now, I would do the same. And when I walked away, I wouldn’t look back.