He Smiled at Her, I Packed to Leave

Chapter 5

She knew exactly why Stellan, always so reserved and unemotional, had taken an interest in Annika, an ordinary intern.

Stellan had never cared for Annika herself.

What he longed for was the voice that could say, "You've worked so hard," when he was weary.

He craved the softness of someone who could talk with him late into the night. He wanted the sweet sound of laughter whispered near his ear. And these were things Amaris Blackwood could no longer give him.

She remembered who she had been before the fire, always chattering, always following Stellan around.

Back then, he would pinch her nose and call her his "little chatterbox," his eyes filled with affection.

Annika merely happened to possess a voice similar to the one Amaris had lost, a voice that could speak for her.

How bitterly ironic.

She had traded her voice to save his life, and now he sought the sound of it in another woman.

After that night, Stellan did not return. Between Amaris and him began a silence and distance like none they had ever known.

Amaris sat in her art studio while rain fell heavily and gray outside the window. She opened Annika's social media page and scrolled slowly through the posts, as if turning the pages of a book whose ending she already knew.

Someone says my laugh sounds like wind chimes, annoying enough to give him a headache, yet he still can't help wanting to hear it.

Someone even remembers exactly how many sugars I take in my coffee.

Attached was a photo of Annika holding a coffee cup.

In the background, Stellan's profile was visible at the counter paying the bill. The wedding ring that once rested on his left ring finger was gone.

Amaris held her thumb over the 'like' button, then noticed the location tag on the latest post. It was at the shopping mall just a short distance away.

Acting on impulse, she grabbed her coat and ran out into the rain.

Through the café window, she saw Annika smiling and sipping from Stellan's cup. He did not stop her. But what hurt most was the look on Stellan's face.

As he watched Annika, his expression held a lightness and happiness she had not seen in years, a warmth she had tried and failed to capture on canvas over the past two years.

When Annika suddenly leaned in to wipe a smudge of cream from the corner of his mouth, Amaris could bear no more and turned to flee.

Rain mixed with tears ran into her mouth, tasting as sharp and bitter as the smoke she had breathed in during the fire all those years ago.

The day her solo exhibition opened, a fine drizzle fell from the sky.

Standing in the center of the gallery, she looked around at the work she had created over the years, paintings that were quiet, heavy, and full of brokenness, each stroke a wordless expression of all she could no longer say aloud.

In the end, she had sent Stellan an invitation, though she had not truly expected him to come. But he did come, and he brought Annika with him.

"Mr. Blackwood rearranged his whole schedule just to be here," Annika said brightly. "I only tagged along to look around. You don't mind, do you, Amaris?"

Amaris shook her head and signaled for the gallery assistant to show them through. As she turned away, she heard Annika speak in a lowered tone.

"These paintings feel so dark and gloomy. They make my chest feel tight..."

Stellan said nothing. He simply glanced around the room with a detached expression, until his gaze settled on an unfinished portrait in the far corner.

It showed him standing at their wedding, looking at her with a tenderness so deep it seemed impossible now.

Yet today, standing beside Annika, he did not spare Amaris even a single glance.

As more guests arrived, Amaris became busy greeting several important collectors.

Then a sharp cry cut through the hum of conversation. The crowd rushed toward the sound.

When Amaris pushed her way through, she found Annika sitting on the floor in front of the painting that had become her signature work, 'Kiss of Fire'.

Her right hand was pressed into her wrist, and blood seeped through her fingers. The glass covering the frame lay shattered across the floor, its sharp edges still stained red.

"What happened?" Stellan hurried over, brushing past Amaris without a glance, and knelt beside Annika to examine her injury, his voice tight with concern.

Annika looked up through tear-filled eyes, glancing timidly toward Amaris where she stood in the crowd.

"I only wanted to get a closer look at the painting... and then Amaris suddenly rushed over and pushed me away. I know you don't like me, but this is your own work. Why would you want to hurt it?"

Amaris froze in place.

Every eye in the room turned toward her, their gazes as piercing as knives. Worst of all was Stellan's look, cold, disapproving, as if he saw nothing more than a woman throwing a childish tantrum.

"Annika was only curious." Stellan lifted the weeping girl into his arms, his voice low and sharp. "When did you become so unkind?"

Amaris raised her hands to sign, then reached for her phone to type, but finally did neither. She turned instead and walked toward the damaged painting.

Kneeling carefully among the shards, she lifted the canvas. It was the piece she had painted from her memory of the fire, the moment she had pulled Stellan free.

Now the glass had sliced right across it, splitting the image exactly where their faces had been close together.

"Mr. Blackwood..." Annika leaned weakly against his chest. "I feel dizzy."

Stellan gave Amaris one last, cold look. "I'll take her to get her wrist bandaged. We won't disturb your exhibition any longer."

The crowd parted to let them pass.

As they left, Amaris caught Annika's eyes when Stellan could not see. A triumphant smile appeared on her face, and with her bloodied fingers, she flashed a clear 'V' sign.

That same evening, the headline "Mute Artist Attacks Guest At Her Own Show" spread across social media.

The photo showed Annika's bleeding wrist and Stellan carrying her away.

The comments flooded in.

A: [Sounds like plain jealousy.]

B: [People with disabilities really do have twisted minds sometimes.]

C: [Mr. Blackwood is such a gentleman... what a hero.]

Amaris turned off her phone and stared at the only painting in the gallery that remained hidden from view.

It was the portrait of Stellan she had painted in secret, showing him with that gentle, loving look she would never see again.

She picked up a palette knife, dipped it thickly in black paint, and began to cover his face, stroke by stroke, erasing him just as she tried to erase all ten years of shared memories.

The truth was simple, if Stellan had only trusted her, he could have checked the security cameras and found the facts himself.

But he had chosen not to.

And so everyone continued to take advantage of the woman who could no longer speak for herself.