He Paid Five Million to Cut Ties, Then Came Crawling Back Chapter 09

He Paid Five Million to Cut Ties, Then Came Crawling Back Chapter 09

Bennett unraveled after that.

He tried everything to get me back.

He bought the rights to my award-winning piece and made sure every gallery in the country saw it.

He started an art foundation in my name, offering scholarships to young artists who couldn’t afford art school.

He even tracked down my parents’ house and parked outside for two days straight, refusing to leave.

But I never saw him again.

Everything I knew about him came secondhand, through Graham.

My life was mine again.

Graham and I got married.

Small ceremony. A handful of people who mattered.

Tessa came too.

She hugged me and couldn’t stop crying.

“He’s falling apart,” she told me. “He gave up the company. Just sits in his room all day. It’s like he’s not even there anymore.”

“He did this to himself,” she whispered. “I know that.”

I rubbed her back and said nothing.

—

During the ceremony, Graham turned to me and said his vows.

“Maren, you spent the first part of your life learning what it felt like to break. I’m spending the rest of mine making sure you never have to again.”

“From now on, your hands are just for painting and for holding mine.”

“Everything else… I’ve got it.”

I smiled through my tears…

Nobody had ever said anything like that to me before.

…

A year later, I had my solo exhibition at the Rosemont Grand Museum.

The exhibition was titled After the Fire.

It was a massive success.

I stood in front of the centerpiece and talked to the press.

A woman walking out of fire. Scorched earth behind her. An ocean of stars ahead.

Faint scars on her right hand. A paintbrush gripped tightly in her fingers.

A reporter leaned in. “Mrs. Calloway, what inspired a piece this powerful?”

I smiled and found Graham across the room. He was already watching me.

—

“Because I walked through the worst thing I could imagine,” I said.
“And I was lucky enough to find someone waiting on the other side.”

Graham was beside me the second the cameras stopped rolling, slipping his coat over my shoulders.

“Are you tired?” he asked.

I shook my head and leaned into his arms.

“There was a time,” I said quietly, “when I was sure I’d never paint again.”

“I know.” His arms tightened around me. “But some things are part of who you are. You couldn’t stop painting any more than you could stop breathing.”

“A broken wing doesn’t mean a bird forgets the sky. It just takes a little longer to find its way back.”

I tilted my face up and kissed him.

“Thank you. For being my sky.”

…

That night, after we got home, my phone rang.

It was Bennett’s doctor. He had somehow kept me listed as his emergency contact.

“Mr. Ashford has severe depression,” he said. “Along with psychotic episodes.”

“He won’t accept treatment. The only thing he’s asked for is to see

—

you. Once.

I was silent.

The doctor sighed. “I know it’s a lot to ask. But his condition is deteriorating fast, and I wouldn’t call if I didn’t think it mattered.”

I hung up and told Graham.

He listened. Said nothing. Just held my hand.

“Do you want to go?” he asked.

I looked at him and shook my head.

“I don’t want to go.”

Not because I hated him. Because I was done.

His life wasn’t my burden to carry anymore.

Graham pulled me into his arms. “Okay, then we won’t go.”

But the next day, Tessa showed up at our door.

She broke down sobbing in our doorway, begging me to go.

“He doesn’t recognize anyone anymore,” she said. “But he keeps saying your name.”

“He keeps saying he lost the stars. That he has to find them.”

“He screams that his right hand is burning now, too,” she whispered. “Do you think that means he finally understands what you went through?”

—

Tessa was falling apart in front of me. I couldn’t watch it anymore.

Graham came with me to the hospital.

Bennett was curled up on the bed. There was almost nothing left of him.

He was clutching a picture frame against his chest. Inside was a print of Shattered.

He looked right through me. No recognition at all.

I walked to his bedside.

“Bennett.” My voice was quiet. Careful.

Nothing.

I reached for the frame.

His head snapped up, his eyes wild and terrified, like those of a cornered animal.

“Don’t touch my stars!” He crushed the frame tighter against his body.

“It’s mine… it’s Maren’s… I can’t lose it again…”

The air left my lungs.

I looked at him. Hollow eyes. Gray skin.

The man who’d once had everything, who’d torn me apart without even noticing, was lying here in pieces himself.

I didn’t know what to say.

—

I stood there for a long time. Then I took a paintbrush from my bag and set it beside his pillow.

“Bennett,” I said. “The stars aren’t gone. They’ve just moved somewhere you can’t see yet.”

“If you want to find them, you have to stay. You have to get better.”

I turned and walked out.

Graham was waiting in the hall.

He didn’t ask. He just took my hand and walked me out.

We stepped out into the bright sunlight.

I looked up. Clean sky. Clouds drifting slowly and easily.

The past was behind me. All of it.

What mattered was right here. Graham. The life we’d built. Everything ahead.

The End