Faded love, I don't want it anymore

“Auntie, I need to hand in my resignation a month early. There’s still work I need to transfer, but whatever’s left, you can arrange as you see fit. I’m fine with it. Sorry for the trouble.”

“Oh, you child, why so polite?”

My aunt laughed on the other end of the line, her tone light, betraying nothing unusual.

The moment she hung up, I sat at my desk in silence for three seconds.

The resignation form on the table was soaked through by a ring of coffee, the brown stain spreading like a bruise.

I closed my eyes, and in my mind, I could still hear the doctor’s urgent voice: