Stolen Face My Husband’s Perfect Lie

My mind went blank, then erupted into chaos.

I thought back to yesterday—standing outside the consultation room, overhearing Corey's conversation with that woman. They'd been discussing cosmetic procedures.

Suddenly, everything my parents had tried to tell me dissolved into white noise.

When I finally made it home, I sat alone on the couch, unable to sleep.

Corey came back well past midnight.

Seeing me still awake, he hung his coat by the door and walked over quietly, his hands reaching for my waist.

"Why aren't you asleep? Something on your mind?"

I shoved his hands away, my composure finally cracking. "I look like this now, and you still want to touch me?"

Corey froze. His eyes searched mine, trying to read something in them.

"Don't overthink it. I told you—I'll make you look the way you used to. I promise."

He thought this was just a breakdown. A sudden collapse under the weight of my ruined face.

"You're still lying to me," I said. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

Corey let out an awkward laugh, his gaze sliding away from mine as he slowly pulled back.

"I'm not lying to you."

"Look, I know you're struggling right now. But trust me—this month, I'll do your surgery. I'll restore you completely."

I couldn't hold it in anymore.

"You're still lying. How long are you going to keep this up?"

"Why don't you just find some pretty girl and give her my old face instead? Get yourself a replacement."

Corey went silent. He stared at me for a long moment, saying nothing.

In my eyes, that silence was guilt.

I pressed harder. "What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?"

"Isn't that exactly what you've been wanting to do?"

He grabbed his jacket, muttered "Psycho," and walked out the door.

But I couldn't let it go.

At dawn, I was already waiting outside the hospital.

And there she was.

That woman—clinging to my husband's arm, pressed against him like they belonged together. The sight made my stomach turn.

I charged at her like a bull, shoving her hard to the ground.

She hit the pavement with a yelp.

Corey spun around, hand raised to strike—but when he saw it was me, he froze mid-motion, arm suspended in the air.

The woman rubbed her backside and glared up at me. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Why did you push me?"

I stared at her face. And then—I laughed.

She looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "Are you insane?"

I laughed because she looked exactly like me.

Exactly like me.

Like me at twenty, when I'd just started college.

Back then... that was when I first met Corey.

In those days, he loved me fiercely. Desperately.

He'd bring me roses every day, write me love letters. He'd live on instant noodles for weeks just to save up for the designer bag I wanted.

His cooking—that skill he was so proud of—he'd taught himself in college, just so he could make meals for me.

Whatever I wanted, he'd move heaven and earth to get it.

My college friends all envied me for landing a boyfriend like him.

Now, staring at this woman's face—young, beautiful, achingly familiar—I saw myself at twenty.

And one thought crystallized in my mind: Corey never loved me. He loved what I looked like at twenty.

Tears streamed down my face. I pointed at her, my voice breaking.

"Corey... did you give her my old face?"

"What, taking a trip down memory lane?"

A laugh ripped out of me—ugly, unhinged. "Newsflash, sweetheart. You're nothing but a replacement."

The crowd stared. I could feel their eyes on me, see them inching backward. I was laughing and crying at the same time, tears streaking down my bandaged face, and I knew exactly how I looked.

Crazy.

Broken.

Good.

The woman's face flushed scarlet. She shot to her feet and grabbed the edge of my bandages, fingers clawing at my cheek.

"What the hell are you babbling about?" She yanked. "I've never had plastic surgery."

Another yank. The tape tore at my skin.

"This is my natural face. I was born looking like this." Her voice pitched higher, defensive. "I only came here for body contouring—a little lipo, some minor facial adjustments—"

The last strip of gauze fell away.

She froze.

For one perfect moment, there was only silence.

Then her lip curled. "Oh, wow." The venom dripped slow, savored. "You're actually serious? Looking like that, and you have the nerve to accuse me of copying your face?"

She laughed—a bright, cruel sound.

"Honey, your brain must've gotten damaged along with the rest of you."

I clamped both hands over my face, but it was too late. The whispers had already started.