They Thought She Couldn't See

Ivan let out a long sigh. It was hard to tell whether it came from regret or relief.

"It's okay," he said. "Just remember… even if you can't see for the rest of your life, I'll still love you. Tomorrow, I'll invest another ten million into the ophthalmology department. Maybe it'll help speed things up."

Then he added, "But for now, it's time to eat. Come on."

He bent down and lifted Alison into his arms.

It was a gesture that once felt sweet. Now, it only made her skin crawl. Her body stiffened.

They entered the dining room.

"I want to sit next to Mommy!" Josh chirped, his voice cheerful.

But he was still standing on a stool, wiping the mistress's mouth with a napkin.

Besides, the table was arranged so that he and the woman sat on opposite ends. They clearly had no intention of letting Alison sit beside the mistress.

It was all prearranged. And now they were performing, right in front of her.

The woman wore a bathrobe and lounged beside Ivan, looking more like the lady of the house than Alison herself.

Ivan cut Alison's steak and peeled her shrimp.

Josh poured Alison a glass of water.

It all looked so familiar. But this time, Alison could see. And what she saw in the other woman's eyes was jealousy.

The food tasted bland in Alison's mouth. She stared at Ivan's hands as he peeled shrimp for her—hands that, just this morning, had touched another woman.

Her stomach turned.

Just as she was about to rise and leave the table, the other woman reached out and shamelessly pulled Ivan's hand under her robe.

He flinched, trying to pull away. But she pressed his hand there, guiding his movements.

In the end, even when she let go, Ivan didn't move his hand back.

The nausea hit harder this time, rising like a tide she couldn't stop. Alison gripped the table and doubled over, retching until the room spun.

Josh rushed to get her tissues.

Ivan reached out, trying to rub her back to comfort her.

But the second she remembered what that hand had just done, she slapped it away.

"Dirty," she said coldly.

Ivan froze, clearly missing the meaning behind her word. "I used that hand to peel your shrimp! Let me see, how are you feeling? I'll take you to the hospital."

"I'm fine," Alison said, pushing him away as she steadied herself.

She returned to the bedroom and stepped into the shower. Steam rose around her, and in the fogged mirror, her reflection was hazy.

She thought of what she'd overheard outside Ivan's office that day.

"Ivan, is it because your wife is blind that you are never turned on by her, leading you to take it all out on me?"

"Shut up. You're nothing. Know your place."

Ivan hadn't denied it.

Alison wiped a hand across the mirror. Her face came into focus.

What did she look like when she was blind?

Was she so forgettable… so lacking… that Ivan could toss aside their childhood memories, her life-saving sacrifice, and so many years of marriage for another woman?

She remembered their wedding night—how he kissed her eyes again and again. She had felt his tears falling onto her cheeks.

"Alison, you're finally mine. I love you. Thank you for loving me back. I'll take care of you for the rest of my life. If I break that vow, may the heavens strike me down."

And he had taken care of her. That much was true.

He hired thirty housekeepers for the home, each one trained with motion sensors. All she had to do was press a button, and someone would appear to help.

Even though she couldn't see, he still bought her everything—skincare, jewelry, clothing—anything other wives had, he made sure she had better, more expensive.

Afraid she'd be bored at home, he even formed a Braille publishing team to translate books and magazines just for her.

Did Ivan really stop loving her?

Alison didn't think so.

She believed he had simply learned to split his heart in two.

One half for her. The other for someone else.