He Speaks to Everyone But Me Chapter 05

He Speaks to Everyone But Me Chapter 05

[Ella’s POV]

I tried to scream, but only a broken gasp escaped. Backing away, I dialed 911.

The dispatcher told me to stay on the line, said officers were on the way, and ordered me to lock myself in a room.

I dragged my shaking legs into the bedroom, locked the door, and shoved the nightstand against it.

Every scrape at the front door made me flinch.

Then came the sirens.

The men panicked. Someone cursed under his breath, and they quickly ran off.

When police knocked, I was still huddled in the corner, cold and trembling. After the officers confirmed the hallway was clear, they told me to have someone come stay with me. I nodded. Couldn’t speak.

My tablet lit up.

Owen to Becca:

[I don’t know if Ella’s figured out I can talk.]

[She’s been testing me lately.]

[Just now, she claimed there were strangers at the door and asked me for a voice message.]

[She’d make up anything. Ridiculous.]

Becca replied fast:

[Maybe you should still go home. She just got out of the hospital.]

Minutes later, Owen sent a tired voice note.

“I’m exhausted. I just want to see you.”

“As for Ella, tomorrow’s our third anniversary.”

“I’ll tell her then. Surprise her.”

Surprise.

I stared at the word, and something inside me went cold.

Owen.

There won’t be a third anniversary.

I stood and pulled the suitcase I’d already packed from the closet. My flight was in less than three hours.

I left the divorce papers and my lawyer’s card on the table, with a note:

[I’ve signed my part. Contact my attorney.]

Then I walked out.

My phone buzzed with one last message from him.

[Asleep?]

[I’ll be back late. Got good news for you.]

I didn’t reply. I just switched it off.

As the plane took off, the sky blushed with sunset. I sat by the window, and for the first time in years, I felt quiet inside.

From now on, Owen never had to be annoyed by my talking again.

All my sharing, my joy, my clumsy love, none of it was his anymore.

When the plane landed, morning was breaking. I turned on my phone and Owen’s calls and texts flooded in.

[Ella?]

[Where are you?]

[Why aren’t you home?]

[I got you breakfast. Your favorite breakfast burrito place.]

I read the lines and almost laughed.

In the terminal, people rushed past with their luggage. My throat still hurt, but my chest felt light, like I’d finally stepped out of a one-woman play that had run for three years.

No more guessing what his gestures meant.

No more translating his silence into love.

No more performing happiness for a face that never responded.

I silenced my phone and walked with the crowd toward the exit.