There was a promotional video on TV about a university abroad for children with disabilities that is looking for volunteers.
The kids in the video were so young, each with their challenges. Despite that, their eyes shone with hope and determination. Watching them, I felt something deep inside me soften—a piece of myself that hadn’t felt alive in a long time.
I sent the school an email briefly introducing myself and explaining my situation. To my surprise, they responded quickly, saying they would love to have me volunteer with them and that I was welcome to do so.
Without hesitation, I booked a plane ticket for a flight a few days later.
There were still a few days left and I planned to say my final goodbye to everything here.
Shortly after booking my flight, Mason called me. Now, I didn't want to see him at all and hung up directly. I wasn’t interested in hearing anything he had to say. I didn't expect him to come straight to the hospital room to find me.
“Where are you planning to go when you buy the flight ticket?” he asked, his tone sharp with suspicion.
I remembered that his card was linked to the travel app.
“Nothing,” I replied dismissively. “Probably just clicked something by mistake. I mean, look at me. Where could I even go like this?”
My voice was cold, detached. Even I noticed the sharpness that crept in whenever I spoke to him now.
Mason looked like he wanted to say something, but before he could, his phone rang. When he glanced at the screen, his eyes darted away nervously.
“Excuse me,” he muttered, stepping outside to take the call.
Before the door fully closed, I caught a glimpse of the caller ID—and heard Fiona’s voice filtering through.
As I sat there, my phone buzzed. A notification popped up—Fiona’s latest post.
It was a picture of a man cooking in the kitchen, his back to the camera.
Even without seeing his face, I knew it was Mason.
I had refused to let him step foot in the kitchen for years. I worried he might hurt himself, convinced it was my job to care for him. And now, here he was cooking for another woman.
I had wanted to end things with him cleanly and peacefully, but not anymore. They had taken everything from me. I wanted them to pay—just a little, just enough to make them feel even a fraction of the pain I’d endured.
***
The night before my departure, I saw another post from Fiona. It was a photo of her and Mason together, smiling as if they had no care in the world.
That night, I made a phone call.
The line rang several times before he finally picked up.
“Mason,” I said softly, my voice deliberately weak, “the doctor said I have complications. They want to have surgery tomorrow. Can you come and stay with me?”
There was silence on the other end for a moment, followed by a cruel laugh in the background.
“Complications? Great!” Fiona’s mocking voice rang out. “Why don’t you just die and stop dragging Mason down with you?”
And then the call ended.
I stared at the phone ringing a busy signal for a moment before bursting into laughter. Oddly enough, I wasn’t sad. If anything, I felt lighter. Tomorrow, everything would all be over.
***
The drive to the airport the following day felt surreal. I gazed out at the city I had lived in for so many years, its streets and buildings holding good and bad memories. My emotions were a jumble—bittersweet nostalgia mixed with a growing excitement for the future.
As the plane taxied for takeoff, I sent Mason one final text.
“When you read this, I’ll already be gone. I don’t blame you for what happened, but I hope we don’t meet again in our next lives.”
After sending it, I directly threw away my cell phone card.
***
When Mason received the message, he panicked. He drove to the hospital, desperate to find me. But when he reached my empty room, dread sank into his chest—seeing the doctor to ask where I actually went.
“Where’s the patient who was staying here?” he demanded.
The doctor hesitated before replying, “Oh, that patient? She had surgery today but didn’t make it. Poor thing—she didn’t have any family come to visit.”
The words hit him like a sledgehammer. His legs gave out and he collapsed onto the floor, unable to process what he had just heard.
