My Husband Let His Mistress Scar My Face

The hospital's fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as I drifted in and out of consciousness. The paramedics had given me something for the pain—morphine, maybe—but it only dulled the edges of the agony clawing at my face.

"We're almost there, Miss Rogers," the driver called back. "Your sister should be meeting us at the entrance."

Allison. My heart lifted slightly at the thought of her familiar presence. She'd always been my anchor in storms, even when she was the one needing protection.

Through the small window separating the back of the ambulance from the driver's compartment, I saw the hospital's emergency entrance come into view. The automatic doors slid open, waiting for us.

"Where is she?" I mumbled, my damaged lips making speech painful. "Is Allison here?"

"I don't see her yet," the paramedic beside me said, checking my vitals. "But she'll be inside. We'll get you taken care of."

The ambulance slowed as we approached the entrance. Then I heard it—the screech of tires on asphalt, loud and sudden.

"What's that?" I tried to sit up, but the paramedic gently pressed me back.

"Stay still, Miss Rogers."

Through the side window, I caught a glimpse of a black van swerving wildly into the ambulance bay. It cut off our path to the entrance, stopping at an angle that blocked our view of the hospital doors.

"Who the hell is that?" the driver muttered, leaning on his horn.

The van's side door slid open with a metallic scrape. Two men in dark clothing jumped out, followed by—

"Oh God," I breathed, recognizing the wild hair and torn wedding dress. "It's her."

Madelyn Boyd stood in the harsh hospital lighting, her face twisted with triumph. Behind her, another figure emerged—my sister Allison, her hands cradling her belly protectively.

"Allison!" I screamed, trying to stand despite the restraints on the gurney. "Run! Get away from her!"

But it was too late. Madelyn's hand flashed up, something metallic glinting in the light. The sound of impact was sickening—a dull thud as metal connected with flesh.

Allison crumpled to the ground like a marionette with cut strings.

"No!" The word tore from my throat as I fought against the restraints. "Allison! ALLISON!"

The paramedics were moving now, one reaching for the radio while the other prepared to exit the ambulance. But they were too slow.

The men from the van approached our vehicle with purposeful strides. One of them pulled something from his jacket—a small canister with a nozzle.

"Gas," the driver whispered, his voice tight with fear. "Everyone stay calm."

The world went blurry as the gas entered the cabin. I heard coughing—mine, the driver's, the paramedics'—as consciousness slipped away.

---

I woke to motion and darkness. The ambulance was gone, replaced by the metal floor of what felt like a van. My hands were bound behind my back, and each bump in the road sent fresh waves of pain through my damaged face.

"Priscilla." Allison's voice, weak and strained, came from somewhere beside me. "Are you awake?"

"Yes," I whispered, trying to orient myself in the darkness. "Allison, are you hurt? Is the baby—"

"I think we're okay," she said, her voice trembling. "But Priscilla, who is she? What does she want?"

Before I could answer, harsh laughter cut through the darkness. Madelyn's voice came from the front of the van, where she sat in the passenger seat.

"Oh, she doesn't know?" Madelyn's voice dripped with false sympathy. "Your precious sister doesn't know that her brother-in-law has been fucking me for three years?"

I felt Allison stiffen beside me.

"Three years," Madelyn continued, her words slurring slightly. "Three years of 'cancer treatments.' That's what he told you the money was for, right? Poor Madelyn's medical bills?"

My blood turned to ice as understanding dawned.

"Those were my payments," she laughed. "For being his real wife. For giving him what you never could."

"That's not true," I whispered, but doubt had already taken root.

"Oh, but it is." Madelyn turned in her seat, her eyes gleaming in the darkness. "Ask me anything about him. Anything intimate. I bet I know things about your husband that you don't."

"Stop," I begged, tears mixing with the chemicals on my face.

"Does he still have that little birthmark on his thigh?" she asked conversationally. "The one that looks like a crescent moon? Does he still moan when you touch it just right?"

Allison's sharp intake of breath told me she recognized the accuracy of Madelyn's words.

"Or how about the scar on his shoulder?" Madelyn continued, warming to her subject. "From when we went hiking in Colorado? The one he told you came from a childhood accident?"

Each detail was a knife twisting deeper. How did she know these things? How much of our marriage had been a lie?

"You're lying," I insisted, but my voice lacked conviction.

Madelyn laughed again, the sound echoing in the metal chamber of the van as we sped toward whatever fate awaited us.