Left at the Altar, Chased by Lies

I sat there on the floor, overwhelmed, my sobs echoing in the empty house. The weight of everything was crushing me.

By the time Damien finally returned, I was standing in front of the mirror, staring at the scars from my surgery. Its reflection was all I could see. The deep reminders of the sacrifices I made for him.

Damien approached me, his steps hesitant, like he wasn’t sure what to say.

He rested his head on my shoulder, his voice thick with emotion as he said, “Camille, thank you. I promise I’ll make it up to you. I’ll treat you twice as well from now on.”

I didn’t even look at him. My eyes remained fixed on the scars on my body.

And under my breath, I muttered, “Disgusting!”

Then, before I even realized it, I started rubbing at the scars, over and over, desperately trying to scrub them away.

But the pain, it didn’t even register. I couldn’t stop myself.

Damien panicked, rushing to grab my wrists, trying to hold me still. “They’re not disgusting! If you don’t like them, I’ll find the best doctor to remove them. Just please, stop!”

He pulled me into his arms, lifting me back onto the bed. But I barely felt it.

It wasn’t until I looked into his eyes that I realized something was different. I reached out without thinking, touching the scar between his brows—the one he got when he saved me that day in the avalanche.

“Some scars can never be erased,” I said softly, my voice barely a whisper.

Damien didn’t say anything. He just sat there, staying close to me for the next week as if waiting for me to break.

One evening, as I stared out the window, my thoughts heavy, I turned to him and said, “I want roasted chestnuts from Night Garden Street.”

Without a second thought, he grabbed his car keys and rushed out the door.

I used to love how he’d never say no to any request I made. But now, I knew the truth—it wasn’t love. It was guilt.

As soon as Damien left, I grabbed a cab and went straight to the VIP hospital suite.

Naomi was there, sipping soup, looking completely unfazed. She didn’t even flinch when I walked in. It was like she was expecting me.

She casually took another sip, her eyes meeting mine with that same smirk.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “Damien and I grew up together. He’s my childhood sweetheart. I was the one who told him to pursue you.”

I didn’t say anything. I just stared at her, my anger bubbling up.

She seemed to enjoy my silence, watching me like I was some kind of show.

Finally, I broke the silence, my voice barely above a whisper. “You were never sick, were you?”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then grinned. “Nope. Thanks for the liver, though. I never used it... threw it to a stray dog. Hilarious, right?”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. A hot rage spread through me, my hands shaking with fury. I wanted to lash out, to rip her apart.

But it wasn’t just about her. It was about him.

“Damien never loved you,” Naomi said, as she stood up and sauntered over to me. She casually tapped my abdomen with her finger, that cruel smile still on her lips. “By the way, how does it feel to kill your own child?”

“Shut up!” I screamed, the rage exploding.

I shoved her with everything I had, sending her stumbling backward. But at that exact moment, the door burst open.

“Stop!”

Damien rushed in, grabbing my wrist and throwing me to the ground. Without a second thought, he picked up Naomi and cradled her in his arms.

His eyes, cold and piercing, looked down at me. “Camille, Naomi is sick. You shouldn’t have laid a hand on her!”

Sick? He didn’t seem to care that I was just as much of a patient.

But he ignored that. He was too busy paying attention to Naomi, making sure she was okay.

I just stared at his back, my body trembling, my heart numb. There was no point anymore. I picked myself up and walked out without a word.

...

Back at home, I laid everything out on the coffee table—everything that had been a lie. The fake marriage papers, the abortion records, the recording of my confrontation with Naomi.

I put a note next to them, written in French:

[We’re even. From now on, we are strangers in life and death.]

Then, without another word, I walked out the door and headed straight for the airport.