Seven Years and a Lifetime of Lies Chapter 02

Seven Years and a Lifetime of Lies Chapter 02

I looked up and saw him on a video call, guiding Cindy through some work tasks while she sat at home in her pajamas. She smirked at my disheveled state.

“Wow, Stella, I didn’t know you let yourself go like this after work. Hank’s complained to me before that you’ve picked up an unpleasant body odor as you’ve gotten older, and I didn’t believe it at first… but it turns out it’s true.”

The rigid manila file folder Hank was holding swung unexpectedly into my cheek, its sharp rigid edge slicing a bleeding cut across my skin.

My head whipped to the side. When I turned back, his face was full of disgust.

“Stella, is this really why you showed up here today? Just to drag Cindy’s name through the mud on purpose? How many times do I have to tell you—there’s nothing between us. You started as an intern too. What do you get out of picking on someone new?”

I laughed bitterly, tears and blood mixing on my face. I hurled the bag of chocolates at his chest.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have come.”

Colorful chocolate pieces scattered all over the floor. Hank’s expression shifted from shock to guilt. He reached for my face, but I slapped his hand away.

“Don’t touch me.”

Cindy bit her lip and ran over, dropping abruptly to her knees right there before me, tears already welling up.

“Stella, you’ve totally misunderstood everything. Hank only looks out for me ‘cause he ran into me working a part-time diner shift when he was out to eat two months back, and he saw how hard I’ve got it financially.”

“And he didn’t ignore your calls on purpose—that was my birthday. He took me to an amusement park because I’d never been as a kid. We had no idea you’d gotten into an accident.”

Her words turned every last ounce of warmth in my chest to ice. I trembled with simmering fury as I stared at Hank, my chest so tight I could barely breathe.

Two weeks earlier, we had planned to visit his grandmother Eleanor at Willow Creek Senior Care Community.

She had Alzheimer’s, and he’d always said she was the most important person in his life. We had a standing date once a month to see her.

That morning, I packed all her supplements and vitamins. Before I left, Hank texted that he had a work issue and would meet me there. I said okay, sent him a message that I was on my way, and drove off.

Halfway there, another car rear-ended mine.

Dazed and fading fast, I called Hank over and over—he was my emergency contact—until I blacked out.

A passerby pulled me from the car and called an ambulance.

When I woke up at the hospital, I learned I had been one month pregnant. I’d lost the baby in the crash.

I sobbed so hard I couldn’t breathe.

But what hurt more was what the doctor said: if I had been rushed to the hospital earlier, the baby could have been saved.

I kept replaying all those unanswered calls, hating myself for not calling 911 first. I clawed at my own hands in grief.

Hank didn’t show up until late that night.

He claimed his phone had been muted while he was entertaining clients, and he held me tightly in what he pretended was heartfelt sympathy.