I began receiving cards in the mail from my friends, filled with well wishes for a speedy recovery.
At first, I was confused. The first one made me pause, the second one made me uneasy, and by the third, I knew something was wrong.
“Hope you’re feeling better soon!”
“Take all the time you need to rest—we’ll catch up when you’re better!”
“Let us know if you need anything. Thinking of you!”
I wasn’t sick.
So why did they think I was?
I asked him if he knew anything about it, but he just shrugged. “Maybe they got mixed up.”
But I knew better.
It turned out he had told all my friends that I was sick and couldn’t see them. That I was too weak, too unwell to have visitors. That I needed space.
All without me knowing.
It was like he was isolating me from the people who cared about me, manipulating them into believing his lies.
And the worst part? It worked.
They stopped calling. Stopped texting. Stopped asking me to go out. Because why would they? They thought they were respecting my need for rest, for space.
Meanwhile, I sat in a house that felt smaller every day, wondering how long it would be before they forgot me altogether.
