Part 1When I found out I could talk, I ran away.

I became mute saving Chloe, my childhood sweetheart.

When I discovered I could speak again, a surge of pure joy hit me. I suppressed my excitement, planning to surprise her on our wedding day.

But on the eve of our wedding, she was going wild with some college guy in our marital home.

Through the crack in the door, I saw her, flushed and breathless, sprawled across his toned abs. When she spoke of me, her voice dripped with utter contempt.

"He's just a mute. All he does is gesture with his hands all day. What right does he have to marry me?"

She promised him, "I'm only doing this to keep up appearances for our families. You're the one I love. I'd never leave you."

Yet later, at the wedding, Chloe frantically demanded they find me, insisting she had to marry me.

But this time, I was truly going to leave her.

I slammed the door shut, blocking out the sickening sight of their passionate encounter.

After realizing I could speak, I’d practiced for days. I wanted to recite my wedding vows, to give Chloe the surprise of a lifetime.

Now, it seemed I was the real clown.

Chloe had said she wanted the most unique wedding in the world, so I’d worked day and night at the venue, overseeing every single detail, leaving nothing to chance.

Returning to the chaotic wedding hall, I smashed everything I’d personally prepared. Then I went home and collapsed into a deep sleep.

I woke up rested, my phone buzzing with a flood of messages and missed calls from Chloe.

[Liam, the hotel told me you trashed the wedding venue. What the hell are you doing?!]

[Why aren’t you answering my calls? What kind of tantrum are you throwing?!]

[Do you even want to get married or not? If not, then forget it!]

…

[Liam, are you still mad at me? I really didn't mean to stand you up…]

Perhaps this was Chloe’s true face.

First, she’d hit you hard, leaving you reeling, then when she felt like it, she'd offer a sweet little treat to lull you back.

Keeping you firmly in the palm of her hand.

Yesterday, she’d asked me to dinner, but I waited until the restaurant closed, and she never showed.

No calls, no texts. Worried something had happened, I searched everywhere she might be. I never expected to find her in our marital home, listening to that wild, intimate act.

She was used to having me wrapped around her little finger, always doing her bidding.

But I got tired too.

I glanced at the messages but didn’t reply. The front door burst open, and Chloe rushed in, her heels clicking urgently.

Seeing me, she glared. "You were home! Why didn’t you reply to my messages? You made me look like an idiot, sending so many!"

Watching her face flush with anger, I almost laughed.

Was she finally experiencing the frustration of sending a pile of messages with no reply? I’d lived through that for eight years. Lived through her disappearing.

I signed coldly, [I was asleep. Didn’t hear anything.]

Chloe stepped forward, swatting my hands away, her anger flaring. "I told you to stop with the gesturing! I can't understand you!"

In the eight years I’d been mute, my parents and friends had learned to understand at least some simple sign language.

But Chloe, the one I saved, never bothered. Whenever I tried to communicate with her through signs, she’d get annoyed and give me dirty looks.

To this day, she couldn't even understand the simplest sign for "thank you."

I wasn't in the mood to sign, nor did I want to tell her I could speak again.

Chloe slammed her bag onto the table and crossed her arms. "We're getting married in a week. Why did you ruin the wedding venue?"

Simple. I just didn't want to marry her anymore.

I was tired. Exhausted. Fed up.

I typed a message on my phone, [Just wasn't happy with how I decorated it.]

Seeing my reply, Chloe’s tense expression softened. She linked her arm through mine, leaning gently on my shoulder.

"You must be tired. Let's just hand the wedding over to a planning company."

Her phone suddenly rang. She instantly pulled away from me, discreetly taking the call in another room.

Through the thin door, her words were crystal clear.

"I know you miss me, baby. I'll still stay with you tonight."

"Him? Just thinking about sleeping with him after we get married makes me sick. He can't even say a word. How could he compare to you?"

"That dish you liked last time? I'll get him to make it for you again."

The call ended with Chloe blowing a kiss into the air. She walked out of the room.

I couldn't help but recall Chloe's behavior these past few days. She'd been coming home late for ages, and I'd only hear her heavy footsteps and the loud slam of the door late at night after I'd fallen asleep.

I was mute, but I wasn't deaf. Each time I was woken up, I found it hard to fall back asleep.

I’d asked Chloe what kept her so busy, coming home so late every day.

She’d always answer impatiently, "Work, obviously! Meeting clients, writing proposals, what else?"

When I’d make her a hangover soup, she’d grumble behind my back.

"He can't even hold down a job himself, but he's all up in my business."

Most of the time, I pretended not to hear.

Turns out, her recent strange behavior was because she had another man, someone she was deeply invested in.

Leaving me to be with someone else.

"Make some food, I need to take it with me."

Then she added, "That same dish you brought to the office last time. Make it extra spicy."

So, the nourishing, carefully prepared meals I made for her had all gone into another man’s mouth.

She had a sensitive stomach, and even though I used to love spicy food, I’d willingly switched to a bland diet for her.

Now, she was catering to someone else’s taste, using *my* cooking to please *him*. It was laughable.

I didn’t cook for Chloe. Instead, I went back to my parents' house.