The First Sound I Heard In Three Years Was His Lie Chapter 09
Elliot instinctively moved me behind him and stepped between me and the approaching figure.
It was Graham.
I had not seen him in a year. He was much thinner, with hollow cheeks and bloodshot eyes.
“Mara!”
Tears immediately filled his eyes.
“It’s been a year. I finally found you.”
Elliot glanced back at me.
“Who is he?”
My expression turned cold.
“An ex who should’ve stayed dead to me.”
Graham flinched.
“Mara…”
“I waited for you all day when we were supposed to have our civil ceremony, but you never came.”
“I’m sorry. I know I was wrong.”
“I know I did terrible things to you. I swear I’ll never treat you that way again. Can we start over?”
My lips curved faintly.
“No.”
I took Elliot’s hand and walked past Graham.
Graham ran after us and blocked our way before we could get into the car.
“Mara, I’ve already paid for what I did.”
“Tessa shoved my mother, and she died because of it.”
“She left her company’s debts in my name. My father died in a traffic accident trying to raise the money to
pay them off.”
“I’ve suffered enough.”
“You’re all I have left.”
I looked at him.
“Graham, don’t forget what happened to my mother.”
“She died of cancer three years ago because we couldn’t afford her surgery.”
“If you hadn’t given my $300,000 to Tessa, my mother might still be alive.”
“Being with you was my punishment.”
“Don’t ever come near me again.”
Elliot kept himself between us as he helped me into the car.
Ignoring Graham’s desperate, pleading stare, I slammed the door.
Elliot stepped on the gas, and the car quickly pulled away.
Through the rearview mirror, I saw Graham collapse to his knees, crying helplessly.
All I felt was contempt.
Six months later, I said yes when Elliot asked me to be with him.
Later that same month, he accompanied me to the International Art Awards.
The instant the plane hit turbulence, Elliot took my hand and held it tightly.
This time, I was not alone.
I would never be alone again.
At the awards ceremony, I stood beneath the spotlight in a pearl-white gown, holding the trophy in my hands.
I smiled at the audience.
Elliot stood below the stage, taking picture after picture of me.
“I’m deeply honored to receive this award at this year’s International Art Awards. I’ll keep learning, keep
growing, and keep creating work worthy of this honor.”
“There is someone else I need to thank.”
“He isn’t only the doctor who helped me recover. He is also the man I love.”
“Because he believed in me, I found my way back to painting. I would not be standing here today without
him.”
A wave of surprised cries swept through the audience.
Elliot hurried onto the stage, dropped to one knee, and held up a ring.
“Mara, will you marry me?”
My eyes filled with tears as I held out my hand.
“Yes.”
The auditorium erupted in applause.
Everyone was smiling except Graham, whose face was wet with tears as he watched Elliot and me embrace
onstage.
The last trace of hope vanished from his face. Whatever he had been clinging to finally died, leaving him
hollow.
He fled the auditorium without looking back.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him leave, but my gaze soon returned to the man standing in front of me.
I had let go of the past a long time ago.
Elliot was the person who mattered most now.
Three months later, I saw Graham’s name in a news report on my phone.
Graham Walsh had pleaded guilty to stabbing Tessa Vaughn to death and had been sentenced to life without the possibility of parole.
That same day, I received a call from prison.
It was Graham.
“Mara, I’m sorry. I truly mean it this time.”
“You probably know what I did.”
“If it weren’t for her, I never would have lost my parents or you.”
“If there’s another life…”
“No,” I interrupted.
“Even if there is, I never want us to meet again.”
His voice tightened with suppressed tears.
“Mara…”
Elliot leaned out of the kitchen.
“Who was that?”
I smiled.
“Just an unwanted call. No one important.”
Then I ended the call.
At the dinner table, Elliot carefully removed the bones from a piece of fish before placing it on my plate.
“You’ve been overusing your hand again. I’ll massage it tonight. I don’t want the old injury flaring up.”
“Okay, okay,” I mumbled around a bite of food.
After dinner, I had barely rolled up my sleeves to wash the dishes when Elliot frowned and ushered me out of
the kitchen.
“Why do you keep ignoring me?”
“A painter’s hands are meant to create art. Leave the dirty work to me.”
“If you sneak in here and steal my chores again, I really will get mad.”
I stuck my tongue out at him and went to sit on the couch.
A plate of sliced fruit was already waiting on the coffee table.
I took a bite.
It was sweet.
Just like the life I had built.
