Six years as Hugh Farley's idealized love.
In that time, I went from a chart-topping singer to a voiceless nobody everyone despised.
Hugh abandoned me and took up with Ann Swanson, the industry's newest rising star.
When I found out my mother had suffered a stroke, I clutched the medical bills—hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth—and summoned every ounce of courage I had to go to the door of his private room.
That was when I heard the conversation between Hugh and Ann.
"You know why I turned Carla Harding into a mute?"
"If you want to turn a proud songbird into an obedient little canary, you have to break the one thing she's most proud of."
"Once she has nothing left, she'll remember how good I am to her."
"She'll never fly out of the palm of my hand."
I stood frozen, as if struck by lightning.
When the words finally sank in, all I could manage was a bitter smile.
Never escape?
What Hugh didn't know was that I only had three months left.
……
Scalding tears slid down my cheeks. I clamped both hands over my mouth to keep any hoarse, ugly sound from escaping.
No one inside the room noticed anything outside the door. They were still fawning over Hugh's grand scheme.
"Hugh really does love his wife. That's some serious possessiveness."
A chorus of agreement rang out.
Ann Swanson's expression darkened. She rolled her eyes and pulled herself free from Hugh's arms.
"So you want that mute to stay by your side forever. Then what does that make me—your mistress for life? I don't have that kind of time."
She pouted as she said it, putting on a pitiful little act designed to tug at heartstrings.
Hugh's brow furrowed immediately. Pain flickered across his face as he pulled Ann tightly into his arms.
He stroked her face with unbearable tenderness—that face that bore a seven-tenths resemblance to mine.
"Don't talk like that. Carla is mine, but I belong only to you. The two things don't conflict."
Ann pursed her lips.
"Then tell me—who sings better, me or Carla?"
Hugh pressed his forehead to hers. Their noses brushed in a slow, intimate graze.
"You, of course. I wish I could lock you in a room and have you sing just for me."
The room erupted in jeers and whistles.
"My mistake for not recognizing royalty. So Ann's been the real lady of the house all along!"
Hugh's words echoed in my ears, over and over.
Tears blurred my vision until I couldn't make out his face anymore.
I stumbled back several steps, my heart tearing itself apart.
Three months ago, I had received an invitation to compete on the biggest variety stage show the entertainment industry had seen in half a year.
For six years, to make ends meet and to support Hugh's career, I had spent nearly eight hours a day busking on the streets.
Year after year, our life together improved. His empire grew until he became one of the wealthiest men in the business. And I weathered every hardship, slowly building a loyal fanbase who genuinely believed in me.
This competition—I poured everything I had into it. I was counting on it to turn my life around, and I refused to let down the fans who had stood by me.
The closer the competition got, the more hours I invested. But even so, I could sense the shift in Hugh's mood with sharp clarity.
He grew quieter and quieter.
Then, the night before the competition, he did something out of character: he cooked me a bowl of noodles himself.
After dinner, he wrapped his arms around me from behind, burying his face in the curve of my neck and nuzzling against it like he couldn't bear to let go.
"Carla, sing me that song one more time. The one you always used to sing for me."
I didn't think much of it. I figured I'd been neglecting him lately and it had put him in a mood.
I patted his hand gently and began to sing his favorite song.
His arms tightened around me, and they kept tightening. It wasn't until I had sung it for the tenth time that he finally spoke.
