She Carved Into My Face On Anniversary Day

The silk of my black lingerie felt cold against my skin as I adjusted the straps for the tenth time, my reflection staring back at me from our bedroom mirror. Seven years. Seven years of marriage deserved something special, something that would remind Leon of the woman he fell in love with.

I had spent the entire afternoon preparing. The dining room table was set with our wedding china, candles flickering across every surface, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Leon's favorite meal—herb-crusted salmon with roasted vegetables—waited in the warming drawer, perfectly timed for his usual arrival at seven.

But seven o'clock came and went.

I checked my phone again. No messages. No calls. The salmon was getting dry despite the warming drawer's best efforts. I dimmed the lights a little more, thinking maybe the ambiance wasn't quite right. Maybe if I made everything perfect enough, he would see me the way he used to.

At eight-thirty, I called his office. Straight to voicemail.

"Hi, you've reached Leon Valentine. I'm either with a client or away from my desk..."

I hung up without leaving a message. What would I say? That his wife was waiting at home in lingerie like some desperate housewife? That I had been counting down to this anniversary for weeks?

By nine o'clock, I was pacing the living room, the heels I'd chosen clicking against the hardwood floor. The sound echoed through our empty house, each step a reminder of how alone I was. I caught my reflection in the dark window—a thirty-four-year-old woman in black lace, surrounded by romantic lighting, waiting for a husband who couldn't be bothered to come home.

The candles had burned down to stubs by ten o'clock. Wax pooled on the table, hardening into small lakes of disappointment. I blew them out one by one, each extinguished flame taking a piece of my hope with it.

My phone buzzed at ten-fifteen. Finally.

"Working late. Don't wait up."

That was it. No apology. No acknowledgment of what day it was. Just five words that shattered what was left of my carefully constructed romantic evening.

I sank onto our bed, still wearing the lingerie I had chosen so carefully. The silk that had felt sensual hours ago now felt like a costume from a play no one wanted to watch. Tears came then, hot and bitter, staining the expensive fabric.

How had we gotten here? When did I become someone he could dismiss with a text message? When did our anniversary become just another day he could ignore?

I thought about our first anniversary. Leon had surprised me with a weekend in Napa, presenting me with a bracelet over dinner as he told me how lucky he felt to be married to me. "You're everything I never knew I needed," he had whispered against my ear that night.

Now I couldn't remember the last time he had touched me with anything resembling desire.

The house felt enormous around me, every shadow a reminder of my solitude. I curled up on top of the covers, too exhausted to change out of the lingerie, too heartbroken to care about wrinkles in the silk. The digital clock on Leon's nightstand glowed green in the darkness: 11:47 PM.

Maybe tomorrow we could try again. Maybe I could plan something else, something better. Maybe if I just tried harder...

Sleep took me somewhere between hope and despair, my body finally surrendering to the emotional exhaustion of the day.

I don't know how long I had been asleep when rough hands grabbed my arms.

"Get up."

The voice was muffled, distorted. My eyes flew open to see dark figures surrounding the bed, their faces hidden behind masks—cheap Halloween masks that turned their features into grotesque parodies of human faces.

"Please," I gasped, my voice hoarse from sleep and terror. "Please, what do you want?"

They didn't answer. Strong hands hauled me from the bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floor. I stumbled, still disoriented, still hoping this was some horrible nightmare.

"Leon!" I screamed, but even as his name left my lips, I knew he wasn't here. He was at the office, or wherever he really was when he said he was working late.

They dragged me through the house I had so carefully prepared, past the dining room with its cold salmon and hardened wax, past the living room where I had paced in my heels. The back door stood open, letting in the October night air that cut through my thin lingerie like ice.

The backyard was dark except for the motion sensor light that had clicked on, casting everything in harsh white relief. My neighbors' houses were dark, their windows like dead eyes that couldn't see my terror.

"Look at this," one of them said, and I could tell it was a woman's voice beneath the mask. "All dressed up with nowhere to go."

Laughter rippled through the group. Cold, cruel laughter that made my skin crawl.

"Please," I begged, my voice breaking. "I don't understand. What do you want from me?"

"What do we want?" The woman stepped closer, and I could see her eyes through the mask's holes—dark, filled with a hatred I couldn't comprehend. "We want you to understand your place."

Hands grabbed at the straps of my lingerie. I fought back, but there were too many of them, and they were too strong. The silk tore, the sound sharp in the night air.

"No!" I screamed, but my voice seemed to disappear into the darkness.

A camera flash blinded me. Then another. And another.

"Smile for the camera," someone taunted.

I was naked now, shivering in the cold air, my arms crossed over my body in a futile attempt at modesty. Every flash of the camera felt like another violation, another piece of my dignity stolen.

"You think you're so special," the woman with the cruel voice said, circling me like a predator. "You think you deserve what you have."

In the harsh light, I caught a glimpse of her wrist as she gestured—a small, dark mole against pale skin.

"Please," I whispered one last time.

She pulled something from her pocket. Metal glinted in the motion sensor light.

A knife.

"Let's make sure everyone knows exactly what you are," she said, and the blade moved toward my face.

The pain was unlike anything I had ever experienced. Sharp, burning, endless. I felt the knife carve into my cheek, then drag across to the other side of my face. Each letter was agony.

B-I-T-C-H.

I screamed until my voice gave out, until the world went black and I felt myself falling into a darkness that might have been death.

The last thing I remembered was that mole on her wrist, burned into my memory like a brand.