I went on a date with a guy, and we ordered a lot at the restaurant. Halfway through, he stepped out to take a phone call. Thirty minutes passed, then forty… he didn’t return. I looked around—no sign of him—and thought, “Well, that’s it. I’ve been ditched.” I ended up paying for myself, frustrated and hurt.
Later that evening, he called. I started yelling, ready to vent my anger, but he stopped me. He explained that while on the phone, an elderly woman collapsed right in front of him, struggling to breathe. He’s a doctor, so he jumped in to help—he stopped a car, got her inside, and rushed her to the nearest hospital.
He stayed with her for hours, making sure she was stable and that the doctors could take over. An ambulance would have taken too long, and the hospital staff confirmed he did exactly what was needed. Only when they assured him she was going to be fine did he finally leave.
I couldn’t believe it. My frustration and anger dissolved instantly. I burst into tears over the phone, realizing he hadn’t ditched me at all—he’d just been doing something far more important.
Sometimes, the story behind someone’s absence is far more powerful than the absence itself.
