My Husband Cheated. So I Took Everything but the Scar

Eight years ago when I was attending the School of Fine Arts, Tobias and I were the perfect couple in everyone's eyes.

I was radiant and my painting had a unique charm and spirit; He was an untouchable diva, but only had passionate and ardent feelings for me.

After graduation, we both stayed on as faculty, and it was natural for us to get married.

For his proposal, he arranged roses of various shades to form my portrait, moving many of our junior classmates to tears.

Throughout the years, we have been the “legendary couple” everyone admired and envied.

But who could've predicted we would end up like this...

The cold touch of the paint brought me back to reality.

I sat at home, staring at the grotesque scar I had to repaint in the mirror, finding it deeply ironic.

If I hadn't pushed him away when the rocks started sliding, would I have fallen off the cliff? Would my life be any less bitter?

I had just finished cleaning the art supplies when Tobias returned.

His glance shifted to the right side of my face, and as expected, a flash of disgust crossed his eyes.

“Is your scar getting worse? Haven’t you been getting treatments?” he asked, his voice filled with concern, but he averted his gaze while pretending to change his shoes.

I gave a bitter smile, “The scar tissue is growing back. The doctor said it's incurable.”

“What? How can that be!” He walked closer, now showing some urgency.

Placing the dinner plate opposite me, he moved to sit on my left, where he couldn’t see the scar. Only then did he relax.

Plop.

A tear fell into my food, startling Tobias.

“It’s okay, honey. Don’t be sad, it can definitely be treated,” he said tenderly, holding my hand, but his words sounded more like he was trying to convince himself, “You will still be beautiful.”

He pulled me into his embrace, and the faint scent of Clara's perfume filled the air.

I heartlessly decided to test him, gripping his shoulders and staring straight at him.

The scar on my right cheek was suddenly brought sharply into focus, right up close.

Tobias jerked back, as if fed a rat.

His tenderness vanished.

He realized his mistake and awkwardly handed me a tissue.

“We’ll ask the doctor about the scar the day after tomorrow. Let’s rest early tonight, I’m a bit tired. I want you to accompany me to an art exhibition tomorrow afternoon.”

With that, he walked briskly to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

If he had just looked closely earlier, he would have noticed the scar was fake.

...Fine.

Tobias Dorne, you’ve made your choice clear once again.

The next morning, I feigned despair, wandering around in a daze.

Tobias appeared outwardly tender and caring, but the frustration in his eyes betrayed him.

At the gallery entrance, he was about to help me put on a mask as usual, but I pretended to forget and went ahead to open the door and get out of the car.

The twisted, centipede-like scar on my face frightened a female patron entering the gallery, eliciting a few gasps.

The usher hurried forward to stop me, "Ma'am, may I ask who you are?"

“Sorry, we are here for the exhibition,” Tobias’s anxious, irritated voice came from beside me, and he hastily slapped a mask over my face.

In his rough manner, he nearly knocked me over.

I could clearly feel his grip on my hand tighten as he pulled me inside, his face tense, eyes cast downward.

Perhaps he resented me for embarrassing him, as Tobias did not speak to me for the rest of the time.

“Prof. Dorne, your new work seems more abstract than before. Is there a deeper meaning?”

A few reporters surrounded him.

Tobias wore an indifferent expression, calm and serene, only smiling silently.

Many in the art world are not good at socializing; I used to force myself to be his spokesperson, handling all the social interactions for him.

So today, he waited for me to step in as usual.

But unexpectedly, I was lost in my own world, staring blankly.