Summary
I sent a text to my ex-boyfriend, who happens to be a doctor.
[My nipple hurts; I don’t want to go to the hospital. What medicine should I take?]
It took him a long time to reply: [Did she hit her head or something?]
[No.]
[Is there any swelling?]
[I’m not sure.]
[…]
[Then why don’t you come see her yourself? I’ll pay your consultation fee separately.]
[Do you really need me to look at this?]
[What’s the harm in taking a look? It’s not like you haven’t seen her before!]
I was furious.
Back then, whenever my grandma felt even a little off, he’d come over to take a look-more attentive than any errand runner.
His “typing…” hung there for a full ten minutes.
[Fine. I’ll be there in a bit.]