Never Again in Another Life

My boyfriend was a therapist.

On the day I got diagnosed with ALS, he was busy celebrating his friend's birthday.

He said, "Sophie's got depression. Without me, she could break down, hurt herself, or do worse things."

To look after her, he broke up with me and moved into her place.

I blocked him on everything, agreeing we'd go our separate ways.

Strangely, he lost his nuts when he found out I was dying.

Last month, my hands started shaking when I ate. I couldn't even hold the fork and knife steady.

Walking wasn't much better. I kept tripping over my own feet.

I called my boyfriend, Mateo Larsen, asking him to take me to the hospital.

But he always had excuses.

"I'm swamped right now."

"Sophie's been unstable lately. I'm scared she'll hurt herself if I leave."

"Give me some time. I'll be there for you when I'm free."

He was busy ditching me, his girlfriend, to play nursemaid to another woman.

Just as I was about to rant, a cutesy yelp came from the other end of the phone.

"What's wrong?" he asked anxiously.

Sophie Pace whined, "I bumped my head."

Mateo chuckled, his tone dripping with affection. "Watch it, you klutz."

She giggled, "It's fine. You're here to take care of me anyway."

Their flirty exchange made me feel like a third wheel.

Mateo had promised to take me to the doctor today, but he'd bolted out the door at dawn.

For what? To hit the mall with Sophie.

Thinking he had just forgotten, I asked, "Do you remember..."

"Hold on," he interrupted.

I heard a door creak open. A moment later, he came back and declared, "Let's break up. I mean, it's fake, just temporary. You see, Sophie feels lonely and wants me to be her boyfriend. Once she's stable, we'll get back together. What do you think?"

I remained silent.

Sophie called for him again, and he got snappy.

"It's not a big deal. You're not gonna flip out over this, are you? She's sick. Can't you cut her some slack? Alright, talk to you later," he added, ending the call.

I stared at my phone and clenched my fist. But in the end, I let it drop.

It wasn't the first time anyway.

Mateo was a therapist, famous in his field for his perfectionism. His rates were sky-high, but that didn't stop those patients from seeking his help.

He was often too busy to come home.

Lately, his junior from school, Sophie, had gotten worse. For days, he'd been out early and back late. He didn't even have time to break up with me in person, just dropping the news over the phone like it was nothing.

I stepped out of the hospital with a heavy heart, clutching a report that said I had ALS.

There was no cure. I would slowly lose control of my body until I died.

With proper care, I might stretch it out a little. Sadly, an orphan like me couldn't afford the insane medical bills.

I'd just graduated college, still drowning in student loans.

For a moment, I was at a loss.