Saying My Final Farewell to Him

When my kidney stone flared up, the pain was unbearable, like someone jamming a white-hot knife into my side. But nothing cut quite as sharply as Lyra's response when I'd begged her to take me to the hospital. Her face, framed by the rolled-up car window, was cold, indifferent. She'd barely looked at me, eyes fixed somewhere in the distance as she said, "Take a cab yourself."

Then she sped off, leaving me stranded on the overpass.

By the time the ambulance arrived, the pain had pulled me under three separate times.