ManyWriters

I had been in a secret relationship with my childhood sweetheart, Garrison, for three years.
I had always been looking forward to the day he would propose.
But after waiting for three years, what I got instead was a blank check from him. He said, "Delia's back. I can't let her know about your existence. As long as you're willing to leave the country, you can fill in this check for any amount you want."
Only then did I realize that I had always been a stand-in for his true love, Delia.
Heartbroken and devastated, I refused to accept his attempt to pay me off and turned to leave.
The next day when I opened my eyes, I found myself in a foreign country.
Three years later, when his life with his true love had become a mess, he remembered me and sent someone to bring me back.
But when he saw the wedding ring on my ring finger, he cried his eyes out like a madman.

Half Storm, Half Scar

Thoughts returned to me, and the words of that person gradually aligned with the Garrison before my eyes.


My heart churned with endless hatred and regret.


Over these years, I often wondered if I had never met him, never liked him, would I have found the happiness I desired?


But this world has never dealt in "what ifs."


Answers that can't be obtained are better left unpondered.


I replied casually, "I suppose it's been too long since I've been back. I'm a bit unaccustomed to the climate here."


Garrison didn't think too much of it and made way for me.


The people in the private room saw me arrive and greeted me warmly, not mentioning my three-year disappearance at all.


They tactfully left a seat for me, right next to Garrison's right side.


Just as I sat down, Garrison's phone rang.


He glanced at the caller ID, and the faint smile on his face instantly vanished, replaced by a hint of impatience in his eyes.


I was close enough to catch a glimpse of the name flashing on his phone screen.


Seeing her name, I had a moment of realization.


Three years ago, I had also seen Garrison's contact name for her.


Back then, her contact name was the affectionate "Little Delia." Garrison seemed afraid I might see his phone, glancing at it briefly before rejecting the call outright.


He then switched it to silent mode and tossed it aside, ignoring it completely.


Not long after, the phone of Blaine, Garrison's closest buddy, started ringing.


He looked at Garrison uneasily and said with an awkward smile, "Garrison, what do you think...?"


Garrison didn't say a word, just giving him a cold stare.


Taking the hint, Blaine answered the call and walked outside.


"Hello, sis-in-law, is there something you need?"


"Huh? Garrison? I don't know where he is. I haven't seen him all day. I was actually hoping you might be able to get in touch with him..."


Blaine's lies flowed effortlessly, without a hint of guilt.


It seemed that providing such cover-ups for him had become a daily habit.


I couldn't help but let out a cold laugh.


Back then, for Delia's sake, he disregarded my life and sent me to the slums where people were treated ruthlessly and cruelly.


Now, for a moment of pleasure, he lies to her compulsively.


At this moment, I really don't understand what I ever liked about him.


Did I like his infidelity? His habitual lying? Or his cruelty? Looking at the exquisite dishes before me, I instantly lost my appetite and any desire for conversation.


Unconsciously, I reached up to touch the hearing aid on my cochlea.


Garrison noticed my movement and asked with a puzzled expression, "Didn't you used to complain that headphones would damage your ears and always disliked wearing them?"


He thought the hearing aid I was wearing was a pair of headphones.


But he had no idea that during my second month abroad.


I tried to escape and was caught. Those people dragged me back and beat me viciously.


I cried and begged for mercy, but it only led to more ruthless beatings.


Under their brutal assault, I was left with a battered and swollen face, my ears bloody and inflamed.


They wanted to teach me a harsh lesson, forbidding anyone from treating my injuries.


As a result, the wounds became infected. I ran a fever of 103°F, with no one bringing me medicine or food.


I barely survived, only to discover that my left ear was completely ruined, and I could barely hear anything with my right.


Now without my hearing aid, I'm nothing but a completely deaf, useless person.


My expression remained unchanged as I removed the hearing aid and said flatly, "I've gotten used to wearing it. I forgot to take it off earlier."


Chapter 2