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?

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.