Chapter 5: The Man She Chose

Dash's voice came through the speaker again, trembling with fake concern.

"I'm so sorry, Maisie. I probably shouldn't have called, but I can't stop thinking about what happened today."

Maisie immediately softened. "It's not your fault."

"But Tristan hates me. I don't want to come between you two anymore."

I almost laughed.

He was the one who had deliberately provoked me at her office, yet he was now pretending to be the innocent victim.

Maisie sat beside me on the bed and spoke quietly into the phone.

"Dash, don't say that. You know who I choose."

I lowered my eyes.

There was a time when hearing those words would have made me happy.

Now they only made me tired.

"Then come back," Dash whispered. "I don't want to sleep alone tonight."

Maisie glanced at me.

I said nothing.

She stood up and walked toward the door.

"I'll be there soon."

Before leaving, she turned around and looked at me.

"You really don't care, do you?"

I shook my head.

"Not anymore."

Her expression changed for a moment, but she quickly covered it with anger.

"Fine. Keep pretending you're above everything."

She left.

The sound of the front door closing echoed through the house.

I sat alone for a long time.

Then I opened the drawer and took out the folder containing my medical reports.

Dr. Carson had told me that treatment could slow the progression of my illness, but there were no guarantees.

Still, I wanted to try.

I had spent so much time preparing to die that I had forgotten what it felt like to want tomorrow.

The next morning, I went to the hospital alone.

Dr. Carson looked surprised when he saw me.

"I thought you changed your mind."

"I did."

He studied my face. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

I smiled faintly. "I just realized I don't want my last days to belong to someone who doesn't love me."

He didn't ask any more questions.

After the examination, he told me the treatment could begin as soon as I paid the first installment.

I transferred the money immediately.

When I walked out of the hospital, the morning sun felt strangely warm against my face.

For the first time in a long while, I wasn't thinking about Maisie.

I wasn't wondering where she was or who she was with.

I was thinking about myself.

Then my phone rang.

It was Maisie.

I stared at her name before answering.

"What?"

Her voice was cold. "Where are you?"

"Out."

"Where?"

"Why does it matter?"

She went silent.

"I came home this morning and you weren't there."

I almost smiled.

For two years, Maisie had rarely noticed whether I was home.

Now that I had stopped waiting for her, she suddenly noticed my absence.

"I had an appointment."

"What appointment?"

I looked at the hospital behind me.

"A medical appointment."

Her voice changed immediately. "Are you sick again?"

"I've always been sick."

"Tristan..."

I interrupted her before she could say anything else.

"Don't worry. I'm not asking you for money anymore."

She didn't answer.

"I'm handling it myself."

I ended the call.

For several seconds, I stared at my phone.

Then I deleted Maisie's number.

It was a small thing.

But somehow, it felt like the first real step toward leaving her behind.