But the doctor didn't know.
That wonderful partner — he seemed to have fallen out of love with me.
I'd been with Jason for a year, engaged for three months. Two years ago, I missed my sister's calls.

She died by suicide.
My mother called me a murderer, threw things at me, screamed and cursed that I would die a miserable death.
The year I was diagnosed with depression, I met Jason. I broke down crying for no reason outside a convenience store.
People walking by looked at me strangely.
Only he stopped, held an umbrella over me, handed me a tissue, and smiled softly:
"A face this pretty shouldn't be ruined by tears."