This time, I chose to let her go

At five o'clock in the morning, the alarm clock rang on time.

I opened my eyes and gently turned off the alarm clock, afraid of waking her up.

Victoria was still fast asleep, her long black hair spread out on the silk pillowcase. Even in her sleep, she frowned, as if she were disgusted by something. Outside the window, Boston was still shrouded in winter darkness, with only the lights of the hospital building in the distance flickering in the night.

I got out of bed barefoot and tiptoed into the kitchen.

She likes to drink oatmeal lattes, without sugar, and with an extra shot of espresso. I bought the coffee machine last year with three months' salary savings, and when she received it, she just casually said, "It's alright."

The sound of grinding coffee beans was especially clear in the morning stillness. I carefully controlled the pressure as I brewed the coffee while preparing breakfast—whole wheat bread, avocado, boiled eggs, and fresh blueberries. I knew she was watching her weight, and these were the only things she was willing to eat.

At six o'clock sharp, the coffee was ready.

I placed the coffee cup on the bedside table and leaned down to kiss her forehead, a habit I've maintained for the past three years.

"Don't touch me."

She opened her eyes, her voice as cold as the wind outside the window.

My hand froze in mid-air before slowly retracting: "I'm sorry, I was on night shift in the emergency room last night, and I might smell of disinfectant on me..."

"I don't want to hear your explanation." She sat up, took the coffee, took a sip, and frowned. "Today's coffee isn't as good as yesterday's."

I hesitated for a moment, then said, "I...I'll be more careful next time..."

"Alright, for a nurse like you, you've done a great job." She got out of bed and went into the bathroom. "By the way, there's a medical conference dinner tonight, so don't come pick me up. I'll drive myself."

"But you said you don't like driving alone at night..."

"That was before." Her voice came from the bathroom, sounding even colder through the frosted glass door. "Now I think being alone is quite nice."

I stood there, staring at the closed bathroom door.

It's been three years, what am I still expecting?

2 PM, Boston General Hospital.

I carried the insulated food container to the cardiothoracic surgery office. Inside was a mushroom soup I had specially prepared for lunch, made with her favorite matsutake and porcini mushrooms. I had spent a week's worth of food money to buy these ingredients.

The cardiothoracic surgery department is on the twelfth floor of the hospital. The corridor has marble floors and photos of award-winning doctors are displayed on the walls. Victoria's photo is in the center—she is wearing a white coat, with a cool and aloof expression, and behind her is the state-of-the-art operating room.

The plaque below the photo reads: [Dr. Victoria Chase, Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery, Harvard Medical School Graduate, Boston Surgeon of the Year]

I stood in front of the photo, looking at her in it, and felt as if that person was very far away from me.

"Summers?"

I heard a voice behind me. I turned around and saw Dr. Robert, a senior surgeon in his forties.

"You're here to bring Dr. Chase something again?" His tone was mocking. "I'm telling you, a nurse, spending all your time following the head doctor around, don't you feel ashamed?"

I gripped the insulated food container tightly in my hand, my voice calm: "I'm just... concerned about her."

"Concerned?" He laughed. "Do you know what Dr. Chase said about you at yesterday's department dinner? She called you 'a troublesome suitor.'"

My face turned pale instantly.

"Don't flatter yourself, lad." He patted my shoulder, his tone undisguised contempt. "You two aren't even from the same world."

After saying that, he pushed open the office door and went inside.

I took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

Victoria was sitting at her desk, reviewing medical records. Without even looking up when she heard the door open, she said, "Just put it there."

"Victoria, you haven't had lunch yet, have you? I made you some..."

"Put it there." She interrupted me, her tone impatient. "I'm working, I'm busy."

I placed the insulated food container on her desk: "Eat it while it's hot, I remember you like matsutake mushrooms..."

"Ethan." She finally looked up, her eyes icy. "Can you please stop doing this all the time? I'm working, and you're always bothering me. It's really bothering me."

"I just wanted to..."

"And another thing," she glanced at the other doctors in the office, lowering her voice, "Don't come to my office again. You know, yesterday people in the department asked me, 'Who is that nurse?' I didn't know how to explain."

My heart felt like it had been stabbed: "I...I'm your boyfriend..."

"Boyfriend?" she sneered. "Ethan, how can a nurse be fit to stand next to a doctor? Do you know how much this would affect my career?"

The office was silent. The other doctors stopped what they were doing and looked at me with pity or mockery.

"You can go back now, I have a meeting." She looked down at the medical record again, as if shooing away an annoying fly.

I turned and walked out of the office, and behind me I heard her colleague's voice:

"Dr. Chase, who exactly is that nurse?"

"A... friend." Her voice was faint. "Don't worry about him, he'll get the hint soon enough."

friend.

After three years of dating, in her eyes I was just a "friend".

I leaned against the wall in the corridor, closed my eyes, and tears silently streamed down my face.

My phone vibrated; it was a bank notification: "Your account ending in 8023 has been automatically charged $4,000 for mortgage payments. Current balance: $327."

I looked at my phone screen and suddenly laughed.

Today marks our third anniversary together.

But she doesn't even remember.