Hearing Your Heart Lie

I have always been able to hear the hearts of those who love me.

When I was three, my parents held me high above their heads, and I heard the silent promise in their minds: "We will make sure she is our little princess forever." When I was eighteen, Chester handed me a love letter, his face flushed a deep crimson.

Beneath his shy smile, I heard his soul whisper: "I want to love her into the next lifetime and every one after that." We were together for seven years.

Five of those were spent in different time zones, surviving on FaceTime calls and airport goodbyes. Then, Chester crossed oceans and mountains to finally be in my city.

He dropped to one knee, his eyes swimming with a tenderness so profound it felt like a physical weight. "Marry me, Mila," he said. My eyes blurred with tears.

Behind me, I could hear the overwhelming swell of my parents’ happiness—a chorus of "finally" and "she’s so loved." I reached out, my hand trembling, ready to let him slide the ring onto my finger.

But in the heartbeat before the metal touched my skin, Chester’s voice vanished. The clear, resonant devotion I had known for seven years was gone.

In its place was a wall of static—a blurred, hollow white noise that grated against my mind. I froze. I looked up at him, my heart plummeting into my stomach. "Mila?

What’s wrong?" The voice came from Bailey, my best friend, who was standing right beside us. I didn't answer her. I couldn't.

Because as I looked at her, her internal voice shifted, too. It became the exact same discordant static that was buzzing inside Chester’s head. Identical. Synchronized.

I pulled my hand back. In seven years, I had heard Chester’s heart thirty thousand times. But in this moment, for the first time in my life, I just wanted silence. ...

Chester’s hand shook, the diamond catching the light. "I can't do this," I whispered. "I’m not getting married." I took a step back, my gaze landing on Bailey.

She looked shocked, but beneath the surface, a sharp spike of anxiety radiated from her. "The girl this ring belongs to... she isn't me," I said.

Bailey’s expression shifted from confusion to a panicked sort of tension. Instinctively, Chester stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body. "Mila, don't do this.

Don't make a scene," he said, his voice low. "You’re the one who said we’d get married as soon as the long distance was over." I flinched at the memory of that promise. "And you, Chester?

Do you actually want to marry me?" A flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes—gone in a blink, but I saw it.

He glanced back at Bailey for a fraction of a second. "Of course I want to marry you, Mila," he said firmly. He sounded so sincere.

To anyone else, he would have been the picture of the perfect fiancé. But in my head, there was nothing but that agonizing, fuzzy noise. "Just go, Chester.

Please." I stumbled back into the house and locked myself in my room. A few minutes later, my phone buzzed.

A message from Bailey: "Mila, Chester and I are waiting for you downstairs. Please come down." I didn't reply. Ten minutes later, she sent a photo.

It was a closeup of her wrist, red and bruised where she had clearly gripped herself too hard. Her eyes in the reflection were puffy and red.

From the time we were eighteen until now, every time we had a falling out, Bailey would hurt herself to make me cave. It was a cycle of guilt I had never been able to break.

I hesitated, then threw on a robe and ran downstairs. Chester and Bailey were standing together under a flickering streetlamp.

It was a gray, overcast night, and the damp air made me shiver. Usually, the moment I caught a chill, Chester would have his jacket over my shoulders.

Tonight, the jacket he had worn to propose to me was draped over Bailey. "Why did you come down dressed like that?

You’ll catch a cold," Chester said, his tone dripping with practiced concern as he reached out to pull me into his arms.

I struggled, pushing him away. "What do you want?" Bailey nudged Chester’s arm. "The ring, Chester.

Give it to her." He pulled out the velvet box. "Mila, if you didn't like the ring Chester picked today, just say so," Bailey said, her voice frantic, trying to bridge the gap. "We went together to have it custommade.

It took weeks." I looked at the box and said coldly, "I don't want it." Tears immediately flooded Bailey’s eyes. Chester panicked, pulling out a tissue to dab at her cheeks.

He sighed, looking at me with weary frustration. "Mila, what is this tantrum even about?" My eyes burned, the sting of unshed tears making my vision swim.

I looked away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Bailey sobbed, her fists thumping lightly against Chester’s chest. "It’s all your fault, Chester.

You’ve made Mila hate me. Tell her you're sorry! Fix it!" She glared at him with a sort of spoiled playfulness, then turned and gripped my arm tight.

Chester let out a small, tired laugh. "Okay, okay. My fault. I’m sorry." I stood there in my thin pajamas, watching them.

The way they moved, the way they looked at each other—it was a choreographed dance I was no longer a part of. "Mila, I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice softening into that old, sweet tone.

He pressed the ring box into my palm. I closed my eyes and listened. Static. Just hollow, meaningless noise. A drop of rain hit the back of my hand. It felt like ice.

I tried to hand the ring back, but Bailey cut me off. "It’s starting to rain. We’re taking you back up to your apartment," she insisted.

They walked me to my door, relentless and stubborn. Before he left, Chester leaned in and kissed my forehead, exactly the way he had seven years ago when we first started dating.

But I knew. The bridge was burned. The moment the door closed, I tossed the ring box aside. The diamond ring tumbled out, rolling across the hardwood floor until it hit the rug.

I knelt to pick it up. It was a highend designer piece, heavy and cold. I turned it over in the light.

Inscribed on the inner band, the letters and numbers shone with a cruel brilliance. [B.E.Q.] [06.01] "Bailey..." I whispered. June 1st. Bailey’s birthday.

I sat on the floor for hours, my hands shaking uncontrollably. On my wrist, the cheap silver bracelet Chester had given me seven years ago felt like it was searing into my skin.

It was old, tarnished, and out of style. It was time to take it off. I didn't sleep. As soon as the sun came up, I took the ring and drove to Chester’s parents' house.

When I saw his mother, I greeted her politely. "Oh, Mila, dear.

Chester went out early this morning," she said, her face flickering with a momentary look of panic. "He won't be back for a while.

Maybe come back this afternoon?" I turned to leave, but then I heard a familiar voice from the second floor. It was Bailey.

She was standing at the top of the stairs, holding a glass of water, wearing one of Chester’s oversized tshirts. Our eyes met, and she froze. I didn't wait.

I pushed past Chester's mother and ran up the stairs. Chester was lying in bed, looking pale and exhausted. Bailey followed me, stammering, "Mila, it’s not what it looks like.

Chester got caught in the rain last night and came down with a fever. I... I stayed to look after him." I held out the ring. I didn't give it to him; I gave it to her.

Bailey’s face went white. "How long?" I asked quietly. "Mila, please, it’s not like that," she said.

She reached into Chester’s desk drawer—the second one down, a drawer she clearly knew well—and pulled out another box.

Inside was a simple, modest gold band. "This... this is your engagement ring. He was in such a rush to get to the proposal yesterday that he grabbed the wrong box.

The one you have... he designed that as a birthday gift for me. Just a gift, Mila." I felt the room tilt. My fingers went numb.

In five years of long distance, I had flown to see Chester three hundred times.

On the three hundred and first time, I had curled up in his arms and whispered, "Chester, there’s a new jewelry workshop nearby.

My birthday is next week—let's go together and make rings for each other." "Mila, I’m swamped at work," he had told me, stroking my hair. "Besides, making rings is so tedious.

It’s not really my thing." He had Venmoed me five hundred dollars and told me to buy something I liked. It wasn't that he was too busy.

It wasn't that it was "tedious." He just didn't want to do those things with "me". A dull, thumping pain started in my chest.

I walked downstairs and handed the diamond ring to Chester’s mother. "Mila, what are you doing?" she asked, trying to press it back into my hand.

She sighed. "You and Chester have been together for so long. We all know how much you mean to him. He and Bailey... they’re just friends.

Don't overthink this." "We really are just friends, Mila," Chester said, his voice weak as he hobbled down the stairs. He sat next to me and gripped my hand tight.

I let out a sharp, selfdeprecating laugh. "Friends live in your house?

Friends get custommade diamonds with their birthdays engraved on them?" His mother spoke up, her voice taking on a sharp edge. "He loves you, Mila. Don't be so petty.

Men have close female friends; it’s natural. Think about it—you’ve been together for seven years. If you leave him now, who else is going to marry you?

You aren't getting any younger. How many more sevenyear blocks do you think you have left?" Every word was a needle pressed into my heart.

I looked at Chester. "Is that what you think, too?" He looked away, unable to meet my eyes.

I looked at Bailey, and all I saw was a shallow pool of guilt. "I’m not marrying him," I said, my voice dead and flat as I pushed the ring back toward them. "Mila, don't be such a stubborn child!" his mother snapped. "Mila, stop acting out," Chester added, his brow furrowed in frustration. "Then cut her off," I said. "Tell Bailey she’s out of your life for good." Chester froze.

A complex, unreadable shadow passed over his face. Bailey’s voice cracked into a sob. "Mila, it’s all my fault.

I’ll go." She hid behind Chester, her eyes red, making me look like the villain tearing them apart. I tried one last time to hear them.

I strained to find a sliver of the love that used to be there. But there was nothing but that piercing, screeching static. I stood up and walked out. Seven years is a long time.

Most people don't get many chances to start over. But I refused to waste a single second more. I went home and collapsed.

A high fever took hold of me, and I ended up in the hospital.

After three days on an IV drip, Chester finally showed up. "Mila, open up." He held a spoonful of soup to my lips, blowing on it gently. I took one sip and stopped.

Chester frowned. "Don't like it?" I shook my head. "Chester, I want to tell you something.

I can hear the hearts of the people who love me." The spoon in his hand tilted, a drop of broth splashing onto the bedsheet. "Mila, what kind of joke is that?" He reached out and touched my forehead. "Are you still delirious from the fever?" The hot liquid on my hand stung.

I swallowed the bitterness in my throat. "I’m serious." "Stop it, Mila," he said, his voice turning stern. "I just want you to get better so we can get married." "Chester," I said, taking a shaky breath. "When you were eighteen and you first told me you loved me, your heart was saying you’d love me forever.

When we were twenty and said goodbye at the airport, your heart was saying you’d marry me the second the distance ended." Chester’s face drained of color. "But now," I said, staring directly into his eyes, "I can't hear you anymore.

All I hear is noise." Chester was silent for a long time. "Mila, I only have eyes for you," he said finally. He pulled out his phone and shoved it toward me. "Look. Check it.

I have nothing to hide." By habit, I tried to unlock it with my birthday. "Incorrect password." After the third failed attempt, I typed in Bailey’s birthday. It opened instantly.

I tapped on his messages with her. It was a neverending stream of the mundane.

What they ate for lunch, a photo of a stray cat, a debate over which scent of body wash she should buy. My hands began to shake.

Chester had never shared his daily life with me like that. Not once. "Mila, we weren't talking about anything important," he said dismissively.

I held up the screen. "You call this nothing?" He glanced at it. "It’s just life, Mila.

Just daily stuff." "But you never shared any of it with me." "Mila, we’ve been together forever. What is there left to share?" I sat there, paralyzed.

All the words of hurt and betrayal I wanted to scream were stuck in my throat. "If it matters that much to you, I’ll start sharing everything with you from now on," he said, reaching out to pinch my cheek with a terrifyingly gentle smile.

I looked down. "Don't bother." Surprised by my reaction, Chester rubbed his temples, stood up, and began pacing the small hospital room. Neither of us spoke.

I went to turn off the phone, but just as I did, a notification popped up. A promotional text from a pharmacy. [Make sure there’s ‘Zero Distance’ between you! Mr.

Whitman, it’s been 60 days since your last purchase of UltraThin condoms...] The last time Chester and I had been intimate was three months ago.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. My fingers tightened on the phone as I opened his shopping history. Before I could see more, the phone rang. It was a custom ringtone—Bailey’s.

Chester snatched the phone away. He answered it, stepping into the hallway. When he came back five minutes later, he looked troubled. "Mila, Bailey isn't feeling well.

I need to take her to the clinic for a checkup." Without waiting for me to say a word, he hurried out. I waited a minute, then pulled the IV out of my arm and followed him.

I found them in the OBGYN wing. I watched from a distance as Bailey entered the ultrasound room, clutching her stomach. Chester stood outside, pacing anxiously.

A nurse walked up to him and handed him a few boxes of medication. I was too far away to see the labels. "Excuse me," I said, stopping the nurse as she walked back past me.

I pointed toward Chester. "Can I get those same vitamins?

I’m here for my prenatal checkup too." "Of course," the nurse said kindly. "Have you registered your pregnancy with the front desk yet?

Once you do, the folic acid is complimentary." The blood in my veins turned to ice. I walked back to my room like a ghost. Inside, a tsunami was tearing my soul apart.

Two days later, I was discharged. Chester and Bailey came to pick me up. I went to open the front passenger door, but Chester was already leaning over, buckled Bailey into her seat.

Because I got motion sickness, that seat had always been mine.

Bailey gave me a sweet, pitying smile. "Mila, are you feeling better?" I nodded. "Much." Chester looked up at me. "Mila, Bailey’s been feeling really nauseous lately.

She needs the front seat." I didn't say a word. I just got into the back. The car pulled up to my apartment. I fought back the urge to vomit as I stepped out.

Bailey followed me inside. "Mila, I need to tell you something," she said, looking at me with feigned hesitation. "Go ahead." "I’m pregnant." She pulled a sonogram from her bag. "Who is the father?" "Chester." I knew the answer, but hearing it out loud still felt like a physical blow. "When?" "While you were living in the other city," she whispered, looking at her shoes. "It happened a lot.

But that one time... we’d been drinking, and we forgot to use protection." "What do you want, Bailey?" Tears began to stream down her face. "I told Chester.

He wants me to have an abortion. But I can't do it, Mila. Please, you have to help me." She grabbed my hand, sobbing.

I felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up in my chest. "Bailey, you're carrying my boyfriend’s baby, and you’re asking "me" for help?" "Please, Mila. Just... just leave him for a while.

Let me have this time with him." She dropped to her knees, clutching her belly.

When she saw I wasn't moving, she started slapping herself across the face. "Mila, remember when we were nineteen? Remember when I pulled you out of the lake?

You owe me your life!" On the side table, a framed photo of the three of us was starting to fade. "Fine," I said. "I’ll help you." The moment Bailey left, I booked the first flight to the coast.

The next day, I hailed a cab for the airport. Three hundred yards from the terminal, the traffic slowed to a crawl.

Afraid I’d miss my flight, I grabbed my bags and started running under the scorching sun. Everything went black. When I woke up, I was back in a hospital bed.

My phone was blowing up with dozens of missed calls from Chester. "Mila!" Chester burst into the room, looking frantic. "Bailey is hemorrhaging.

She needs a transfusion right now, and you’re the only one with her blood type." He was shaking with emotion, but there wasn't a single spark of concern for me in his eyes. "I don't feel well, Chester," I whispered. "Mila, are you really going to watch her die?

Just do this, and as soon as she's stable, I promise—we’ll get married. I’ll make it up to you." He spoke with such passion, but I closed my eyes and heard nothing.

My heart, which had been numb for days, finally went cold. Three hours later, after giving Bailey my blood, I slipped into a deep, exhausted coma.

I don't know how long I slept, but when I opened my eyes, my parents were there. "Mila, thank God," my mother sobbed. "Dad...

Mom..." my voice was a raspy ghost of itself. "You’re going to be okay, honey," my mother said, her face lined with new wrinkles.

My father let out a heavy, jagged sigh. "Mila, you’re done with Chester.

For good." "What happened?" "A week ago, that girl had a miscarriage," my mother said, her voice trembling with rage. "Chester forced you to give blood when you were already dangerously weak.

You’ve been unconscious for a week, Mila. And in all that time, he hasn't come to see you once.

Bailey is literally one floor below us, and he couldn't be bothered to walk up a single flight of stairs to check if you were still breathing." I looked at them—really looked at them.

They looked so much older. And in my head, I finally heard it. Their hearts were screaming with a fierce, protective love for me.

I gripped my mother’s hand. "Mom, get me out of here. I want to go to a different hospital. I never want to see him again." The transfer happened quickly.

Just before we left, a message arrived from Chester: "Mila, once Bailey is recovered, I’ll explain everything.

Just wait for me." I set his contact to 'Ignore.' I was done listening.