An accident. A fire that devoured half my face. After that, every mirror, every polished surface, anything that could cast a reflection, vanished from my home. But I was lucky. I had a husband who loved me deeply. My scars didn't matter to him. His name is Richard, one of the top plastic surgeons in his field. Just recently, curled up on the sofa, I secretly scrolled through his phone and found a post he’d made on a forum. It read: Hypothetically, if your wife were disfigured in a fire, and reconstructive surgery was not only extremely expensive but also had no guarantee of restoring her original looks, would it be better to keep trying to fix her, or just find a new, “factory-original” beauty? My blood ran cold when I saw a high-voted reply: Dude, "’til death do us part" has an escape clause for "inconvenience"? Here’s an idea: why don’t you find another woman and pay to have her face sculpted into your wife's old one? The most unbelievable part… my husband had liked that comment. 1. A wave of dizziness washed over me. I gently shut off the screen and placed the phone back on the couch cushion. I didn’t know if his “like” was a fleeting thought or a genuine desire. Ever since the accident, he’d been the one to change my bandages every morning, his touch as delicate as if he were handling spun glass. He cooked nutritious meals perfectly tailored to my palate. He would often hold my hand and whisper, "Don't be afraid, honey. I promise I'll design the perfect surgical plan to make you look just like you did before." Was all of that a lie? Was he really preparing to abandon me? Just then, Richard emerged from the bedroom, a wide grin on his face. He wrapped me in an excited hug. “I’m taking you for a full check-up tomorrow. We’re finally ready to begin your surgeries.” My face remained a calm mask. Just a little while ago, I thought, you were online debating whether to replace me with a new model. What changed your mind? I heard myself say, my voice flat, “Surgery is expensive. And there’s no guarantee it will work. Are you absolutely sure you want to go through with this?” My defeatist tone instantly set him on edge. “Sarah, what is it now?” he snapped, his joy curdling into frustration. “Don’t you trust me? I’m one of the best surgeons out there. I told you, I will make you look like yourself again.” He softened slightly. “And don't you worry about the money. If we have to, we'll sell our home and buy something smaller. We'll manage.” A cold question slipped from my lips. “Wouldn’t a new woman be easier?” Richard froze. Then, his fingers clamped around my wrist, his eyes burning with an almost manic intensity. “No,” he hissed. “It has to be you. I don’t want anyone else.” I wanted to scream, Then why did you make that post? Why did you like that comment? But the words died in my throat. I held them back. The next day, I was at the hospital for my check-up. While waiting, I overheard Richard on the phone, his voice sharp with anger as he argued with a woman. “Why aren’t you coming for the procedure? Do you have any idea what the waitlist is like for someone with your case? It’s over a year!” “I’ve designed the entire plan. If you back out now, I’m out hundreds of thousands. You think I won’t sue you?” The woman on the other end started crying, promising she would be there tomorrow afternoon. Richard’s tone immediately shifted, becoming sickeningly sweet and concerned. “Hey, I was just trying to scare you. I’d never really sue you,” he cooed. “I couldn’t adore you more!” Those few sentences paralyzed me where I stood. I waited until he hung up before slowly stepping out of the examination room. I tried to act as if I’d heard nothing. He just wrapped an arm around my waist, kissed my forehead, and smiled. “How did the check-up go?” He took the report from my hands. A wave of self-loathing washed over me. I’m already this hideous, I thought. How long are you going to keep pretending you still love me? 2 Richard glanced at the report, his smile returning. “I’ll get everything arranged as soon as possible. We should be able to do the first surgery within two weeks.” I just mumbled in agreement and went home, my mind a storm of confusion. That night, I tossed and turned, sleep eluding me. I couldn’t understand it. He already had someone else, so why was he still so insistent on fixing my face? Was it to appease his conscience before finding an excuse to divorce me? After all, no matter how skilled a surgeon he was, he could never truly erase the scars, never completely bring back the old me. Maybe I should just make it easier for him. Maybe I should be the one to ask for a divorce. I wouldn’t make a scene. I refused to be a burden to anyone. … The next afternoon, while Richard was at work, a morbid curiosity pulled me to his hospital. And there I saw her. A young woman, laughing and chatting with my husband, her arm linked through his. I froze. Her silhouette was so familiar, like a memory I couldn’t quite place. I knew I’d seen her somewhere before. She was bold, standing on her toes to press a quick kiss to his lips before he led her inside the hospital. I started to follow, needing to see her face, to know who she was. But a hand gripped my arm, stopping me. I spun around. It was my mother. I stared, dumbfounded. “Mom? What are you doing here?” Her face was etched with anxiety as she pulled me away. “Honey, let’s go home. This isn't what you think it is.” In that instant, the dam of my composure broke. I felt the sting of a profound betrayal. It all clicked into place. My husband, Richard, had another woman. And my own mother knew about it. “Mom… you knew all along, didn’t you?” She nodded grimly, practically dragging me to her car and driving me back to my parents’ house. My father was there, pacing the living room, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He saw me and immediately guided me to the sofa. “Your mother called me,” he said, avoiding my eyes. “She saw you following Richard and told me to come home, to talk some sense into you.” I sat there, numb. My gaze drifted and caught my reflection in a darkened window pane. The sight of my bandaged face, half-hidden in shadow, was too much. A sob tore from my throat, and I broke down completely. I wept, pointing an accusing finger at my father. “I’m ugly now, so he doesn’t love me anymore! And you both knew he was cheating! You didn’t tell me because you think I’m worthless now, don’t you? That if I got divorced, I’d just be another problem for you to deal with!” The pieces were falling into a horrifying picture. My parents didn't want me to get a divorce. A disfigured woman like me wouldn’t have an easy time finding someone else. “You were just going to tell me that it’s normal for men to play around on the side, weren’t you?” I choked out between sobs. My mother waved her hands frantically. “No, honey, don’t think like that. A divorce right now wouldn’t do you any good.” “You know Richard is a plastic surgeon. You need him right now. Just wait until after the surgery is done. If you still want to leave him then, we won’t stand in your way. It’s not too late.” My father exhaled a long plume of smoke, his brow furrowed. “Your mother’s right, sweetheart. We weren’t trying to hide it from you. We were just thinking about what’s best for you, practically speaking. Once your face is restored, you can kick him to the curb. We’ll support you.” The fire of my anger began to flicker and die down. But… a new, chilling thought crept in. Would Richard really fix my face? Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure. 3 I vividly remembered the forum post. He’d implied that fixing his disfigured wife was too expensive and uncertain. That it might be better to find a new woman and turn her into a copy of me. My head spun. I remembered the phone call I’d overheard outside the exam room. Richard and that woman… they were talking about surgery. In that moment, my parents’ pragmatic advice faded into meaningless noise. … When I returned home, I sat on the sofa in the dark, a lonely statue, unable to sleep. Richard came home after midnight. Seeing me awake, he hung his coat by the door and walked over, reaching out to wrap his arms around my waist. “Why are you still up? Is something on your mind?” I pushed his hands away. The raw emotion I’d been suppressing finally erupted. “How can you even think of touching me when I look like this?” Richard stared at me, his eyes searching mine, trying to read the sudden shift. “Don’t be like this,” he said gently. “I told you, I’m going to make you look just like you did before.” He thought this was just another breakdown, a symptom of my trauma. I pressed on, my voice shaking with rage. “Stop lying. Aren’t you tired of it?” He let out a nervous chuckle and took a step back, his gaze darting away. “I’m not lying to you.” “I know your mood has been… difficult. But I promise, I will perform the surgery this month. I’ll make you beautiful again.” His words were like gasoline on a fire. “You’re still lying! How long are you going to keep this up?” My voice rose to a near-scream. “Why don’t you just find some pretty girl and turn her into a replacement for me? Make her look like I used to!” Richard fell silent. He just stared at me, his face unreadable. To me, his silence was a confession. I became relentless. “What, nothing to say? Isn’t that what you’ve wanted to do all along?” He turned, snatched his coat from the hook, and threw the words over his shoulder as he slammed the door behind him. “You’re insane.” But I couldn't let it go. It was eating me alive. The next morning, I was waiting outside the hospital. And I saw her. 4 There she was, clinging to my husband’s arm, their intimacy a blade twisting in my gut. I snapped. Like a charging bull, I rushed forward and shoved her. She stumbled and fell to the ground with a sharp cry of pain. Richard spun around, his hand raised to strike, but when he saw it was me, he froze, his arm suspended in mid-air. The woman rubbed her hip, glaring up at me. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she shrieked. “Why did you push me?” But I wasn’t listening. I was staring at her face, and a hysterical laugh escaped my lips. She looked at me like I was a lunatic. “Are you crazy?” she muttered. I was laughing because she looked so much like me. Almost identical, in fact. She looked like me at twenty, when I was a freshman in college. Back when I first met Richard. He had been so in love with me then, a wild, passionate kind of love. He brought me roses every day, wrote me poetry, and lived on instant noodles just to save enough money to buy me the designer bag I wanted. He learned to cook just for me, mastering all my favorite dishes. Whatever I wanted, he found a way to get it. All my friends were green with envy. And now, looking at this young woman’s perfect face, a face so much like my own from all those years ago, a single, devastating thought took shape in my mind: Richard doesn’t love me. He loves the me I was at twenty. Tears streamed down my face, mingling with my manic laughter. I pointed a trembling finger at her. “Richard, is this your plan?” I cried out, my voice cracking. “Are you turning her into my replacement? Trying to relive the past?” “Hahaha! She’s nothing but a substitute!” I laughed and I cried, a spectacle of madness for the growing crowd of onlookers. They started whispering, assuming I was unhinged. The young woman’s face flushed with fury. She scrambled to her feet and, in a fit of rage, ripped the bandages from my face. “What are you talking about, you psycho? I’ve never had surgery in my life! This face is all-natural!” she screamed. “I’m just here for some body contouring, a little lipo, a minor touch-up!” She didn’t finish her sentence. The moment my bandages came off, the moment she saw what was underneath, she froze. Then, her expression twisted into one of pure venom. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You look like that,” she sneered, “and you have the nerve to say I want to look like you?” “The fire didn’t just ruin your face, it fried your brain.” At her words, I clapped my hands over my ruined cheeks, my world spiraling into darkness. 5 The crowd gasped. I could feel their eyes on me, hear their whispers. Vile, pitying words that felt like physical blows, making my head spin. “God, her face is hideous. The accident must have warped her mind, too.” “Yeah, look at her. She’s just jealous of the other girl’s beauty.” “I can’t believe a handsome, talented man like Dr. Richard is with a woman like that. What a waste.” … Buried under the weight of their judgment, I covered my face and ran. Ever since the accident, no one but Richard had seen what lay beneath the bandages. I felt like a ghost, a hollowed-out shell. I ran until my lungs burned and my legs gave out. I don’t know where I was. My vision blurred, and the world tilted sideways as I collapsed into unconsciousness. When I woke up, I was restrained, strapped to a hospital bed. An oxygen mask covered my mouth, and my body felt heavy, completely drained of strength. Standing over me was Richard. He was in his white coat, a syringe in his hand. He looked down at me, his expression cold and emotionless. “You’re awake.” I tried to move, but he swiftly injected the contents of the syringe into my IV line. The room began to spin. The last dregs of my strength vanished. “Ri…chard…” I managed to whisper, but my voice failed me. I had no idea what he was doing. But I knew one thing. He had just given me a powerful sedative. He was controlling me. Why? Why was he doing this to me? A terrifying sense of dread washed over me. I remembered a novel I’d read once, one I’d found in Richard’s backpack back in college. It was about a man obsessively in love with his wife’s youthful beauty. When she grew old, he found a young woman who was her spitting image. He then decided he had to eliminate his aging wife, believing the young look-alike was the true vessel for his idealized love. Oh, God. Was that story playing out in my own life? … Suddenly, the door to my room creaked open. The young woman walked in. She draped herself over Richard, melting into his arms, and then turned to look at me with a smirk. “Richard, I had no idea your wife really did look like me when she was young,” she purred. “But she’s ugly now. Of course you don’t like her anymore.” She snuggled closer to him. “And you know, her parents don’t seem to like her much either. They said they want to make me their goddaughter.” She tilted her head. “Do you think I should say yes?”
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