Stolen Face My Husband’s Perfect Lie

I murmured a vague acknowledgment and went home, my mind churning with questions.

That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. It made no sense. If Corey already had someone else, why bother paying for my reconstructive surgery?

Was this his way of appeasing me? Ease his conscience first, then find some excuse to file for divorce?

After all, no matter how skilled the surgeon, my face would never be what it was. The damage was too severe.

Maybe I should just save him the trouble. Find an opportunity to end it myself.

I wouldn't make a scene.

I refused to be anyone's burden.

...

The next afternoon, while Corey was supposedly at work, curiosity got the better of me. I slipped out and made my way to his hospital.

And there he was.

A young woman stood beside him, laughing at something he'd said. His smile—that easy, charming smile I thought belonged to me—was directed entirely at her.

I froze.

Something about her silhouette tugged at my memory. I knew her. I was certain of it. But from where? The harder I tried to place her, the more the answer slipped away.

She was bold, this girl. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. Right there. In broad daylight.

Corey didn't pull away. He guided her into the hospital, his hand resting on the small of her back.

I wanted to follow. I needed to see her face—needed to know exactly who had taken my place.

But someone grabbed my arm.

I spun around.

It was my mother.

"Mom?" The word came out strangled. "What are you doing here?"

Her face was tight with anxiety, and she pulled me back, physically blocking my path.

"Come home with me first," she said, her voice strained. "It's not what you think."

That's when the tears started.

Because it was exactly what I thought.

My husband had another woman. And my own mother had known.

"You knew." My voice cracked. "Didn't you? You knew this whole time."

She didn't deny it. Just nodded once, then half-dragged me to a car waiting at the curb.

She drove me to the Coxes' home.

My father was inside, cigarette in hand, smoke curling around him like a shroud. His eyes darted away when I walked in—guilty, evasive.

He stubbed out the cigarette and guided me to the couch. "Your mother went to check on you today. When she realized you were following Corey, she called me."

"We just want to talk some sense into you."

I sank into the cushions, and my gaze caught the mirror across the room.

Half my face, swathed in white bandages. A stranger's face. A monster's face.

The sob ripped out of me before I could stop it.

"I'm ugly now," I choked out, pointing at my father, my hand shaking. "That's why Corey doesn't love me anymore."

"You both knew he was cheating. You knew, and you said nothing." My voice rose, raw and accusing. "Is it because you think I'm worthless now? That if I get divorced, I'll just be a problem for you to deal with?"

I was starting to understand.

They didn't want me to leave him.

A woman with a ruined face—who would want me? Second marriage? That was a fantasy for someone like me now.

"Let me guess," I said bitterly, swiping at my tears. "You're going to tell me that men playing around is perfectly normal. That I should just accept it."

My mother waved her hands frantically. "No, no—sweetheart, listen. Divorcing him now won't do you any good."

"Think about it. Corey is a cosmetic surgeon. You need him to fix your face. Once the surgery is done, once you've healed—then you can leave him. What's the rush?"

My father exhaled another cloud of smoke, frowning. "Your mother's right. We weren't trying to hide it from you. We were trying to protect you."

"Be practical. Get your face back first. Then you can kick Corey to the curb. We won't stop you."

The fire in my chest began to die down.

But... but...

Would Corey actually go through with the surgery?

Suddenly, I wasn't so sure.

Because I remembered his post. Every word of it, seared into my brain.

My wife got disfigured. Reconstruction would cost a fortune, and she still might not look the same. Wouldn't it be easier to find a new woman and reshape her into my wife's image?