Ditched for the Skies

The coffee shop buzzed with its usual afternoon energy, but I barely heard the familiar hum of conversation and clinking cups. Across from me, Ryan scrolled through his phone with that casual indifference I'd grown to recognize—the same look he wore when I tried to share something important with him.

"So Marina had another emergency last night," he said without looking up, his thumb still swiping across the screen. "Poor thing was in so much pain she could barely get out of bed."

My chest tightened. Two weeks. It had been exactly two weeks since I'd curled up on my bathroom floor, tears streaming down my face as cramps tore through my body like serrated knives. Two weeks since I'd called him, voice breaking, begging him to pick up some tampons and ibuprofen because I couldn't even stand up straight.

"You know how uncomfortable that stuff makes me, Lace," he'd said then, his voice distant and dismissive. "Can't you just ask your cousin or something? I've got plans with the guys anyway."

"What kind of emergency?" The words came out steadier than I felt.

Ryan finally glanced up, his brown eyes bright with something that looked almost like pride. "Woman troubles, you know? She texted me around midnight, completely panicked. Said she was out of tampons and the cramps were killing her." He shrugged as if it were nothing. "So I drove to three different stores until I found the right brand she needed, plus some of those heating pads and the good pain meds. Took me almost two hours, but she really needed me."

The air seemed to thin around me. My hands trembled as I set down my coffee cup, the ceramic hitting the table with a sharp click that felt too loud. "You... bought her tampons?"

"Yeah, and?" Ryan's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "She was in pain, Lacey. What was I supposed to do, ignore her?"

The irony hit me like a physical blow. Here was the same man who'd claimed buying feminine products made him "uncomfortable," who'd left me writhing in pain while he went out with friends, now acting like some kind of hero for doing exactly what I'd begged him to do for me.

"Two weeks ago," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, "I called you crying. I was in so much pain I couldn't move, and you told me you were too busy to help."

Ryan's expression shifted to that familiar look of exasperation, the one that had become his default whenever I brought up something he didn't want to discuss. "Come on, Lace. That's different. You're always... dramatic about that stuff. Marina was genuinely scared."

Dramatic. The word hit me like a slap.

"Scared?" My voice rose despite my efforts to control it. "I was scared too, Ryan. I was alone and in agony, and I needed you. But Marina texts you once and suddenly you're Florence Nightingale?"

"Don't be ridiculous." He waved his hand dismissively, that gesture I'd