He Wasn't My Moon, I Built My Own Light

On the fourth day after I was discharged, Ethan finally decided to open the door to what used to be our home. When he saw me setting down the medication in my hand, he frowned. "You know you have asthma. From now on, don't forget to keep your medicine both on you and at home." I looked up at him and gave a cold, mocking smile. Had he forgotten? Just two days ago, I had clearly told him I was too busy lately and asked him to take the prescription order I had written for myself and pick up my medicine. He was the one who had put my reminder at the back of his mind because he was too busy going everywhere with Natalie. No. Maybe it was simpler than that. Maybe I had never mattered enough to him in the first place, so he had never taken it seriously. Besides, what home did we have left? He was clearly having the time of his life with Natalie. In his eyes, this place was probably worth less than a hotel room. Seeing the disdain on my face, Ethan's already tight frown deepened. He took off his shoes, irritated, and asked, "You have a day off today?" From the moment he stepped through the door, all he had done was question me aggressively. Yet he never once mentioned the fact that he had spent that entire night partying with his ex-girlfriend for her birthday. Nor did he seem to care how pale and exhausted I looked after nearly dying, or how weak my body still was before it had even recovered. The night I was rushed into the ICU for emergency treatment, the news had spread like wildfire through the hospital group chat. Dr. Bennett from Pulmonology had been taken to the trauma bay because of an asthma attack. I didn't believe he hadn't seen it. He had simply been wrapped up in another woman's arms that night. With only Natalie in his eyes, why would he care whether I lived or died? I stared at the face that had grown more and more unfamiliar to me and said, word by word, "Ethan, let's break up." Ethan's face darkened instantly. His voice was cold when he asked, "Claire, are you serious?" When I didn't answer, he probably assumed I was throwing a tantrum like before, using a breakup to pick a fight with him. Irritated, he unbuttoned his collar, and his tone turned even colder. "If you want to break up, then break up." He picked up his coat and stood. I could see the veins on his forehead standing out from anger. "Claire, don't come crying to me later and beg me to take you back. Do whatever you want." He didn't go back to the bedroom. He only put on his coat and slammed the front door behind him. I didn't need to think to know where he could go. After losing face with me, he could only go to Natalie. But what did that have to do with me? In the past, whenever Ethan and I had a fight about breaking up or gave each other the silent treatment, I had always been the one to lower my head first. He probably thought that this time, I would still humble myself and beg for his forgiveness. But that was before. After coming that close to death, I would never again debase myself by begging him to love me.