The Day I Lost the Ability to Lie

Waking up from the car crash, I could only say Yes and No, and I had to tell the truth.

My wife pulled a chair to my bedside and took out a small notebook filled with questions.

Mason, do you have a secret stash of money?

...Yes.

Is it over fifty thousand?

I closed my eyes. Yes.

She turned to the next page, staring intently at me.

"Mason, tell me, are you cheating on me?"

My name is Mason Carlos, thirty-two years old, an ordinary employee at a mid-sized company.

Three days ago, I was hit by a car while crossing the street. My head hit the edge of a flower bed, and I passed out on the spot.

When I woke up, my wife, Eve, was leaning over the bed, her eyes red-rimmed, her nose a little red, clutching a tissue.

I opened my mouth, wanting to say, "Honey, I'm fine."

But only two words came out of my throat: "No."

Eve paused. "No to what?"

I tried again.

"Yes."

Eve looked at me, tears still in her eyes, her expression shifting from worry to confusion.

The doctor was called in quickly.

They took three CT scans and two MRIs. Finally, the attending physician pushed up his glasses and explained to us with a very academic expression.

"The patient's brain sustained an impact, resulting in a rare focal lesion in the language center. Currently, he can only produce two syllables'Yes' and 'No.' The recovery time is uncertain; it could be three months, or it could be..."

He paused. "Permanent."

Eve's face turned white then.

But I was more concerned about something elseI realized I couldn't lie.

I discovered this after the doctor left.

Eve sat back down by the bed, peeling an orange for me, and casually asked, "Are you in a lot of pain?"

I wasn't actually in that much pain anymore.

But I instinctively wanted to say "Yes" to gain sympathy.

However, my mouth opened, and my throat felt like it was being choked, unable to make any sound.

I tried again: "...No."

Eve's hand stopped peeling the orange.

"Not hurting?"

"Yes."

Wait, my mouth is out of my control?

She glanced at me with an unreadable expression, then put an orange segment into my mouth. "Then why did you make me cry for three days?"

"Yes."

No! I wanted to say no!

I squeezed my mouth shut, but the "Yes" had already popped out.

Eve looked at me again, that gaze very subtle.

She put down the orange, sat up straight, like a different person.

"Mason, I have a question for you."

"Yes."

Why did I say yes again?

"Do you have a secret stash of money?"

The question felt like a needle pricking my back.

I wanted to shake my head, close my mouth, pretend to be unconsciousbut my mouth was no longer my own.

"Yes."

Eve's pupils visibly dilated.

She slowly pulled out a small notebook from her bag, opened the first page, which was densely filled with questions.

When the hell did she prepare this?!

"Is your secret stash over ten thousand?"

"Yes."

"Over fifty thousand?"

"Yes."

"Over a hundred thousand?"

My mouth started to twitch.

"...Yes."

"Over... five hundred thousand?"

The ward was so quiet you could hear the liquid dripping from the IV bag in the next bed.

My lips moved, my throat felt like a traitor lived inside it.

"...Yes."

The pen in Eve's hand dropped to the floor.

As she bent down to pick it up, I distinctly heard her take a deep breath, then slowly exhale, like she was doing yoga meditation.

"Mason."

"Yes."

"Do you think it's better to be alive than dead?"

For the first time, I felt that telling the truth could also be a form of torture.

"...Yes."

"Then you'd better pray that half a million is still there." She closed the notebook, a smile on her face that sent shivers down my spine. "Otherwise, I'll help you re-experience a car crash."

I lay in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, with a strong premonitionmy disaster had just begun.

Sure enough.

Eve turned to the second page.

"Have you secretly looked through my phone?"

"Yes."

"Do you think the steak I cook isn't tasty?"

"...Yes."

"Was the name you called out in your sleep your ex-girlfriend's?"

My breath hitched for half a second.

"No."

Eve raised an eyebrow. "Whose was it then?"

I opened my mouthbut this question couldn't be answered with "Yes" or "No."

I could only produce a muffled airflow sound.

She rephrased the question. "Was it a game character's name?"

"...Yes."

Eve rolled her eyes, clearly not believing it.

But she couldn't refute itbecause it really was the name of my game character.

I subtly exhaled in relief.

This damn ability sucks, but at least it can't answer open-ended questions. So, as long as she doesn't ask precise yes-or-no questions, I still have a glimmer of hope

"Is your secret stash hidden in that false-bottom drawer in the study?"

"Yes."

Damn it.

"Is the bank card password your birthday?"

"No."

"My birthday?"

"No."

"Your mother's birthday?"

"No."

She paused. "Is it... six zeros?"

"No."

"Six eights?"

"No."

She took a deep breath, her gaze sweeping over my face inch by inch, like a scanner reading data.

"Is it... the date you first asked me out?"

My throat rolled.

"...Yes."

Eve froze for three seconds.

Then she lowered her head, her hair covering half her face, her voice a little muffled. "You really... your way of hiding money is so old-fashioned."

She turned the page and continued asking.

But I noticed the tips of her ears were red.

Okay, at least I gained a few points back this round.

Just as I was sighing in relief, she looked up, her gaze sharp again.

"Mason, have you ever secretly deleted SnapChat messages with other women?"

"No."

"Really no?"

"Yes."

"Then have you deleted SnapChat messages with other men?"

My mouth twitched. "Yes."

Eve's expression froze.

"...What?"

I wanted to explain that I'd deleted messages with Wyatt that were just us sending each other memes, because they took up too much memorybut only "Yes" came out of my mouth.

She stared into my eyes for a full ten seconds.

Then slowly pulled out her phone.

"I'm calling your mother."

There's no way to refute this question; I'm completely done for.

My mother didn't come.

A more terrifying person didEve's mother, Mrs. Kelly.

The next morning, the moment the ward door was pushed open, a wave of jasmine perfume rushed in, followed by a pair of sharp eyes.

Mrs. Kelly was fifty-eight, her hair impeccably styled, walking with a confident stride.

As soon as she entered, she first checked my IV drip, then felt my forehead, and then turned to Eve. "You look fine, you're not dying."

"Mom, let me explain" Eve pulled her to the window, whispering for five minutes.

I lay in bed, watching my mother-in-law's expression change from confusion to shock, from shock to... excitement.

She quickly walked to my bedside, pulled up a chair, and sat down, hands clasped on her knees, like a seasoned detective in an interrogation room.

"Mason."

"Yes."

"Can you really only tell the truth?"

"Yes."

"Then tell me, do you secretly look down on me?"

This question was fatal. I looked at Eve for help, but Eve lowered her head and played on her phone, pretending not to see.

"No."

Mrs. Kelly nodded in satisfaction. "Then do you think my cooking is good?"

My throat felt like it was being squeezed, my vocal cords struggling.

My lips trembled twice, then a faint but clear syllable squeezed out through my teeth.

"...No."

The temperature in the ward dropped ten degrees.

Eve's phone almost fell to the floor.

Mrs. Kelly's smile held for three seconds, then slowly vanished inch by inch.

"Not tasty?"

"Yes."

"I cooked for three hours."

"Yes."

"You mean, the food I cooked for three hours isn't tasty?"

"...Yes."

I want to sew my mouth shut.

She then asked the next question.

"Mason, have you ever done anything behind my daughter's back that would betray her?"

"No."

"Really no?"

"Yes."

Eve interjected, "Mom, I already asked him, that line checks out."

Mrs. Kelly gave me a suspicious glance, seemingly unsatisfied with the result.

Then she cleared her throat and pulled out her own small notebook.

Yes.

She had a small notebook too.

Even thicker.

"Mason, I'm going to ask you a few questions about Eve."

Eve's smile froze. "Mom?"

"I need to keep an eye on my daughter's affairs." Mrs. Kelly turned to the first page. "Mason, did Eve tell you her monthly salary is over ten thousand?"

"Yes."

"Was she bragging?"

Eve stood up. "Mom!"

My throat uncontrollably produced a sound: "Yes."

The ward erupted.

Eve's face turned beet red. "Mason! Shut up!"

"NoYes"

I want to shut up too!

Mrs. Kelly pushed up her reading glasses and continued turning pages. "Did Eve secretly give the living expenses you gave her to her good-for-nothing brother?"

"Yes."

Eve completely froze.

Mrs. Kelly's face also turned dark.

"I knew it!" Mrs. Kelly slammed her hand on her thigh. "That spendthrift! Mason, you just wait, I'll go home and sort him out!"

Eve's voice changed. "Mom, can you please stop asking?"

"Why shouldn't I ask? It's rare to have someone who tells the truth."

"Well, you can't stand the questions either." Eve suddenly fought back, turning to me. "Mason, does my mom have a secret boyfriend?"

Mrs. Kelly's pen dropped to the floor.

The air in the ward completely froze.

I looked at my mother-in-law's already twitching face, then at my wife's face, full of curiosity.

The gazes of the two women met on me, like two knives sawing at my face.

The traitor in my throat was ready.

"...Yes."

Mrs. Kelly's expression deflated like a balloon left out for three days.

Eve clapped her hands over her mouth. "Oh my god! Mom!"

"Youyou" Mrs. Kelly pointed at me, her finger trembling, then sharply turned to Eve. "Why would you ask that?!"

"You were just asking me, weren't you!" Eve stood her ground. "Mason, is it Jack, the man from the community dance class?"

"No."

"John, the yoga instructor?"

"No."

"Jimmy, who plays chess at the community center?"

"...Yes."

Mrs. Kelly grabbed her bag, ready to leave. "I'm not staying! This hospital is toxic!"

Eve grabbed her arm. "Mom, don't go, Jimmy is a really nice guy"

"You shut up!"

The two women wrestled in the ward for ten minutes, finally reaching an agreementthey would keep each other's secrets, and neither would use me as a lie detector again.

Of course, the shelf life of this agreement was about as long as a hot cup of coffee.

Because as they left, I clearly heard Eve whisper in the hallway, "Mom, does Jimmy have a pension?"

I lay in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, seriously contemplating a philosophical question for the first time.

When a man can only tell the truth, is he most useful, or most dangerous?

Before I could figure it out, my phone rang.

A message from Wyatt: "Dude, I'm coming to see you this afternoon, and could you do me a favor?"

I typed my reply: "What favor?"

"Help me tell my wife I'm working late."

I stared at the message, falling into a long silence.

Dude, did you forget that I can only tell the truth now?

Wyatt and I grew up together.

In his words, we had a brotherhood forged through fire.

In my wordshe'd screw over his best friend without batting an eye.

At two in the afternoon, he pushed open the ward door, a bag of fruit in hand, grinning from ear to ear.

"Bro! Heard you got hit? Does it hurt?"

"No."

Wyatt paused. "No to what? Not hit?"

"No."

"Then what is it?"

I opened my mouth, found I couldn't explain, and just gesturedpointing at my throat, then shaking my head.

He pondered for five seconds. "You mean... you can't say anything else?"

"Yes."

"Only 'Yes' and 'No'?"

"Yes."

Wyatt put down the fruit, pulled up a chair to my bedside, his expression shifting from shock to contemplation, from contemplation to... excitement.

"Then you can only tell the truth?"

"Yes."

"Oh my god!" He slapped his thigh and stood up, pacing the ward twice. "Bro, you've unlocked a cheat code! Do you know what you can do with this?"

I knew.

I very much knew.

Then his phone rang.

Caller ID: The Boss (his wife).

Wyatt's face instantly changed. He lowered his voice, looking at me. "Bro, if my wife asks where I am, just say"

He stopped.

Then slowly remembered my new 'setting.'

"...Never mind, I'll take it outside."

He slipped into the hallway, closing the door.

But the soundproofing wasn't great.

I heard muffled bits and pieces: "Working late... Yes, yes, the boss made me... No, no, not out drinking..."

Three minutes later, he pushed the door open, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Handled it."

"No."

Wyatt looked at me. "No to what?"

Before he could finish, his phone rang again.

This time it wasn't a call, but a voice message.

His wife Mary's voice boomed from the phone: "Wyatt, you better explain yourself! Your colleague posted on Ins, your company isn't working overtime this afternoon! Where are you really?!"

Wyatt's face turned green.

He stiffly looked back at me, his gaze as if asking, "How did you know?"

How could I know? I just said "No." But my uncooperative mouth had just delivered the most accurate, damning judgment at the most precise moment.

Wyatt took a deep breath, pressed the voice reply button. "Honey, I'm at the hospital seeing Mason"

The phone was snatched away.

Mary called him on FaceTime.

Wyatt dared not refuse.

The moment the video connected, Mary's face filled the entire screen.

"Is Mason there? Let me see him."

Wyatt shoved the phone in front of me, desperately winking.

Mary stared at me. "Mason, did Wyatt just get there?"

I glanced at Wyatt's face, which screamed, "Bro, save me."

Then my mouth opened.

"No."

Wyatt's soul visibly floated out of his body.

Mary's voice dropped three degrees. "Did he go somewhere else first?"

"Yes."

"Did he go play cards?"

"No."

Wyatt secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

"Did he go to an internet cafe?"

"Yes."

Wyatt slumped back in his chair.

Mary was silent for three seconds, then let out a laugh.

That kind of laugh dropped the ward temperature to below zero.

"Wyatt, you just wait."

The video call ended.

Wyatt covered his face with his hands, a muffled sentence squeezing through his fingers. "Mason, our twenty years of friendship..."

"Yes."

"You just sold me out like that?"

"Yes."

"Were you doing it on purpose?"

"No."

His hands slid from his face. He looked at me, his gaze like a puppy abandoned by its owner.

"You can't control it either?"

"Yes."

He sighed, slumping back into the chair. "Alright, fine. Anyway, my credit score with my wife is already in the negatives."

He stood up to pack his things, and as he reached the door, he looked back at me.

"Bro, one last question."

"Yes."

"Do you think it's embarrassing that I'm so afraid of my wife?"

I wanted to say "No" to comfort him.

But my mouth wouldn't allow it.

"...Yes."

Wyatt nodded, his expression calm. "Yeah, I thought so too."

Then he gently closed the door.

The moment the door closed, I heard a low howl from the hallway, like a wounded beast.

I pulled out my phone and sent him a message: "Bro, buy some flowers on your way back, don't go home empty-handed."

He replied with one word: "Screw you."

Ten seconds later, another message came: "What kind of flowers?"

I smiled, then realized a problem.

I was being discharged tomorrow.

Out of the hospital, I would return to normal social relationshipsmy company, colleagues, boss.

And my mouth would still only tell the truth.

I opened the WhatsApp work group and saw Owen's latest message: "Mason's in the hospital after an accident; his clients will temporarily be handled by me."

Below it, the boss's reply: "Thanks for your hard work."

And below that, Owen's reply: "My pleasure, it's all for the company."

I stared at those lines of text, my fingers unconsciously clutching the bedsheet.

Owen, you've been eyeing those three clients of mine for a long time.

I put down my phone and closed my eyes.

Tomorrow, back at the office, you're going to have a rough time.

On the day of my discharge, Eve stayed glued to me, repeatedly whispering the same thing in my ear.

"At the company, talk less, say nothing if you can, just shake your head if people ask you anything."

"Yes."

"Just shake your head, don't open your mouth."

"Yes."

"You opened your mouth again."

"...Yes."

She took a deep breath, pulled a face mask from her bag, put it on me, then added another layer on top. "Double mask, no matter how fast your mouth is, nothing will get out."

When I walked into the company wearing a double mask, the receptionist looked at me like I was a hazmat soldier.

Owen was the first to come over to "care" about me.

He walked to my cubicle, patted my shoulder, a perfectly calibrated smile on his face.

"Mason, how's your body? Feeling any better?"

I nodded, not opening my mouth.

"Heard you had a head injury? Want to take a few more days off? I'll keep an eye on your clients for now, no rush."

His tone was sincere, his expression genuine.

But I noticed a nearly imperceptible curve at the corner of his mouth when he said "your clients."

I still nodded, pointing to my throat, indicating that I couldn't speak.

Owen showed an understanding expression. "I get it, I get it, take good care of yourself."

He turned and left.

I opened my computer and found that my client system access had been downgraded.

For my three key clients, the past week's contact logs were all under Owen's name.

He was already poaching my clients.

I wasn't angry.

Because I knew one thingOwen wasn't just poaching clients.

During last year's annual audit, I'd accidentally seen an expense report where the amount didn't match the actual cost.

The signature on the expense report was Owen's.

At the time, I didn't say anything because it wasn't my business.

But now, it seemed I could make it my business.

At eleven in the morning, the department held a meeting.

Mr. Williamson, the boss, sat at the other end of the long table, speaking for half an hour about quarterly goals, using a PowerPoint presentation.

I wore my mask the entire time, sitting quietly in the corner.

Everything went smoothlyuntil Mr. Williamson suddenly called my name.

"Mason, are you familiar with the situation of your clients? Owen said the contract with Anderson Group was almost finalized last week, is that right?"

Everyone's eyes turned to me.

Owen sat opposite me, his smile unchanged, but the tip of his pen pressed a small dent into the table.

I instinctively wanted to say "Yes"because saying "Yes" was the easiest.

But my mouth disagreed.

Because that contract was far from finalized. Before I was hospitalized last week, Mr. Anderson of Anderson Group explicitly told me that Owen's proposal was full of flaws, and they were hesitant about whether to switch suppliers.

I opened my mouth.

"No."

The conference room fell silent.

Owen's smile froze for a moment, but he reacted quickly. "Mason, you just got discharged, you might not be up to date on the latest developments"

Mr. Williamson raised a hand, interrupting him. "Mason, do you mean the contract isn't finalized?"

"Yes."

Owen's brow furrowed.

Mr. Williamson looked at Owen, then at me. "Owen, didn't your report last week say we'd secured the letter of intent?"

Owen forced a smile. "Mr. Williamson, the situation is a bit complex; Mason might not be aware of the latest progress"

"Did you falsify the report?"

This question wasn't from Mr. Williamson.

It was from my colleague, Lena.

She sat next to me and had always been at odds with Owen.

Everyone's gaze once again focused on my face.

My mouth moved again.

"Yes."

The conference room erupted.

Owen slammed the table and stood up. "Mason! Are you out of your mind?!"

Mr. Williamson's face darkened. "Owen, sit down."

"Mr. Williamson, he just suffered a head injury; his words aren't reliable"

Mr. Williamson raised his hand. "I will check the original email records. Sit down."

Owen slowly sat back down, the muscles in his face taut like an iron plate.

He glanced at me.

That look held a murderous intent.

After the meeting, he stopped me in the hallway.

"Mason, what the hell do you mean?"

I pointed to my throat.

"Don't play mute with me, you were speaking perfectly fine in there." He lowered his voice, stepping closer. "You think you can touch me? My uncle is Cameronthe company's VP. You're just a junior employee, you think you can mess with me?"

His spit splattered on my mask.

I stared into his eyes, silent for two seconds.

Then I reached out, pulled out my phone, and showed him a message.

It was a photo I'd taken with my phone during my hospital staythat expense report from last year with the abnormal amount.

I'd only taken it casually at the time, never expecting it to be useful today.

Owen stared at the phone screen, his face draining of color with each passing second.

I curved my lips into a smile at himhe couldn't see it anyway, the mask was covering it.

Then I typed a message and sent it to him: "Give me back my clients. As for the rest, depends on your performance."

He pushed my phone away and walked off.

His steps were three times faster than when he came.

I leaned against the hallway wall, pulling down my mask to catch my breath.

Mason, you really are something. Can't speak, but you play your cards pretty well.

Back at my cubicle, Lena leaned over and whispered, "Was everything you said just now true?"

"Yes."

"Owen really falsified the report?"

"Yes."

"Did he do anything else?"

I saw the gossipy glint in her eyes and my mouth twitched.

"Yes."

Lena's eyes lit up. She pulled her chair next to mine.

"You tell me, I'll ask."

I pulled out my phone and typed: "Not here. Treat me to dinner after work, and I'll tell you everything."

"Deal."

Owen, your good times are over.