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.

I couldn't believe I was dying.

I had no parents and no family, with only a handful of contacts on my phone.

I thought for a moment and decided to call Mateo. He answered instantly but hung up just as fast.

Thinking it was a slip, I dialed again. This time, it rang forever before he answered, sounding pissed.

"What now?"

"Mateo..."

The thought of my diagnosis hit me. Memories of our happy times flooded back.

It pained me that I couldn't be by his side much longer. My voice shook, but the words died in my throat. I didn't know how to bring it up to him.

"It's just a fake breakup, alright? We'll get back together. Why are you acting like this?" he grumbled. "Grow up. If Sophie offs herself, that's on us."

Once, he said that he knew me best, able to read my every thought.

He knew how fragile I was and promised he'd stick by me through anything. He was my therapist and my closest love.

But everything changed when Sophie showed up. Our relationship was reduced to a joke.

The second he suggested splitting, I knew we were done. The double blow wrecked me.

Still, I steadied myself and said flatly, "I've made up my mind. Let's break up for real."

It was time to end this fantasy and my miserable life.

...

Since that day, Mateo hadn't come home.

I boxed up his stuff and shipped it to Sophie's place. Most of my things went to the landlady.

Mary Thompson stared at the pile I hauled over, confused. "Are you guys moving out?"

I forced a smile. "Yeah, I can't take all this stuff. Pick whatever you need."

She saw right through me. "You broke up with that lad, didn't you?"

I laughed bitterly. She caught herself, patting my shoulder.

"I thought you two were solid," she sighed. "Oh well, life is full of curveballs. Just remember that there are other fish in the sea."

Her open-mindedness soothed me a little.

The next day, sorting through the apartment, I felt drained. Even my once-sharp mind became dull.

I tossed and turned all night, stuck between nightmares and waking up.

By the next evening, I finally dragged myself out of bed. In my haze, I kept calling for Mateo.

Back when I had cramps, he'd stumble out of bed, grab me a hot bottle of water, and rub my belly while nodding off.

Maybe I leaned on him too much. When no one answered, I cried.

Then it hit me that we had broken up.

Growing up unloved, I never learned how to love or what it felt like. Mateo was my light, showing me what it meant to be cared for.

It was new and strange, something I couldn't let go of.

I never thought anyone could love a wreck like me.

Maybe it was too good to last. When the dream ended, the pain hit hard.

I had held onto something that wasn't mine for too long. Now it was time to pay back.

I charged my phone. When it powered on, missed calls from Mateo flooded in.

I hesitated for a moment before calling back. He answered and tore into me.

"I told you I'm busy today," he huffed. "Why did you blow up my phone last night? I called back, and you ignored me. Are you messing with me?"

I froze, then realized I must have called him in my sleep.

"I'm not," I said.

He regretted his harsh tone and softened a little. "No harm done. Once Sophie is better, we'll get back together. Just wait for me at home, okay?"

There he came again, always putting Sophie first. When it came to me, he never gave a definite answer, just letting me wait endlessly.

He took my silence for acquiescence and threw me a couple of sweet words before hanging up.

The room went silent again. I curled up, hugging my knees.

Tears welled up in my eyes. Time was running out.

I couldn't make it till he came back.

...

My limbs gave out first. I couldn't lift a heavy mug anymore.

I managed to cook a simple meal, but halfway through eating, I ran out of steam.

Weak and miserable, I flopped onto the couch and closed my eyes.

When I woke up, I caught myself muttering Mateo's name again.

Back when he lived here, all I had to do was call for him. He'd scoop me up and carry me to bed.

He was attentive, able to catch my every little mood. He made me feel special in the smallest ways.

Now he was no longer there.

In fact, this wasn't the first time he had brought up breaking up. Every time, it was because Sophie needed him.

He had said, "You grew up without parents. You're tougher than Sophie. She can't survive without me. Besides, she's my childhood friend. My parents can't stand seeing her hurt herself. I can't watch her suffer either. Let's fake a breakup. When she's better, we'll patch things up, alright?"

I had asked, "Why does her treatment even need us to break up?"

Guilt had crept onto his face. "Sophie has always wanted to be my bride. If she finds out I've got a girlfriend, she'll kill herself on the spot."

For four years, he had been great to me but kept it low-key.

I had never gotten to meet his parents, and he had never taken me to his friends.

I had thought he just didn't want their meddling.