Seven Years and a Lifetime of Lies Chapter 05

Seven Years and a Lifetime of Lies Chapter 05

He only then registered that he hadn’t been listening to a single word I said. He had already answered the phone, speaking in rushed, anxious tones to soothe the caller, and walked straight out the door.

I was left stranded in the dim, empty house all by myself.

I sat motionless on the sofa for a very long time, then slowly pushed myself to my feet, one hand pressed firmly against my still throbbing chest, and dragged my steps toward the bedroom.

I packed every single item that belonged to me into suitcases.

Just then, the doorbell rang—it was the professional moving crew I’d booked in advance.

I stood up, wiped the tears from my cheeks, gave them a quick rundown of what needed packing, and asked them to help me box everything up.

Five minutes later, one of the movers walked over holding several dust-faded portrait canvases and asked whether I wanted them packed with my other things.

I stared at the younger versions of Hank and me captured on canvas, and my mind drifted back to that trip years ago.

It had been the first trip we could afford after saving up for months. To cut costs, we endured a grueling ten-hour ride in economy seating on an intercity coach bus and stayed in the most affordable shared dorm bunks at a low-budget city hostel.

While sightseeing in a historic pedestrian downtown tourist district, we stumbled across a roaming street portrait artist offering commissioned paintings.

His prices were steep, but his work was undeniably exceptional, drawing a steady crowd of passersby who stopped to watch.

Some passersby jeered, “Everyone’s got a camera on their phone these days. A quick phone snapshot is far more practical than these overhyped hand-painted portraits.”

Others sighed, “Such refined artistic skill is going to waste. He should be working in a studio, not out here on the street.”

A tour guide tried to haggle, “Hey, how about a discount? If you give me ten or twenty percent off, I’ll bring my whole tour group over to get portraits done.”

Meanwhile, Hank and I stood mesmerized by the artist’s skill, marveling at how his paintings seemed to capture the hidden emotions of whoever sat for him—something a photograph could never do.

Eventually, he finished his first commission of the day, and his gaze settled on us.

“Would you two like a portrait?”

I shook my head frantically and tugged Hank’s arm, ready to hurry away.

“No, we can’t—it’s way too expensive. We can’t afford this.”

But Hank gripped my wrist and said, his jaw set, “We’ll do it. Paint three portraits for us, please.”

Without hesitation, he transferred the money he’d been saving for a new phone.

I pinched his arm, half exasperated, half tender with heartache. “Are you out of your mind?”

Hank said nothing. He just pulled me tight against his chest and kissed me deeply.

Later, holding the finished paintings, he explained his reasoning.

“Stella, life is only made memorable by its fleeting, precious moments. I don’t regret spending this money to freeze this peak of our love forever. I hope when we’re old, we can look at these portraits, reflect on our long lives together, and share a quiet smile over this memory.”

…

“Ms. Owen? Ms. Owen? Do you want these paintings packed?”

The mover’s voice pulled me back. I hastily dried my tears and replied, “No need. Some moments are better left preserved only in memories.”

The mover nodded and went back to packing.

Thirty minutes later, all my possessions were sealed in boxes of various sizes and carried out to the truck, bound for the unit I’d rented at a corporate-managed chain apartment complex.

By nightfall, I had unpacked and arranged everything in my new place.

I’d just placed a food delivery order when a message from Hank popped up on my phone.

Hank Young: [Mr. Jacobs just told me there’s a chance we can overturn the disciplinary ruling on your falsified expense documentation case. Don’t be so glum. Cindy got her permanent position, so everyone gets the best possible outcome here. Aren’t you relieved now? Will you drop this fight? My proposal still stands—you can say yes whenever you’re ready.]

I didn’t reply. I also didn’t block him.