Lying there, I felt silent tears slide down my ruined face. They were out there, talking about me like I was some project to fix, a problem to solve. In that moment, something inside me broke.
The warmth and hope I had always carried began to disappear, replaced by something cold and hard. I didn’t know it then, but that was the moment my old self, the Audrey Griffin who was a loving wife, a hopeful mother to be, and an eternal optimist, started to fade. Something else, something darker and stronger, began to take her place.
Coming home from the hospital felt like stepping into someone else’s life. Everything looked the same, our neat suburban house with its perfect lawn, the welcome Matt Alyssa gave us as a housewarming gift, even the faint smell of Aidan’s cologne in the entryway. But nothing felt right anymore.
I set up the guest bedroom downstairs, Aidan said, carrying my bag. The doctor said stairs might be hard for a while. I noticed he wouldn’t look directly at me.
For weeks in the hospital, and he still couldn’t meet my eyes. Thanks, I muttered, my fingers brushing the bandages covering half my face. I’ve invited mom over for dinner, he added quickly.
She wants to help with your recovery plan. Of course she did. Alyssa Griffin never missed a chance to take charge, especially when it came to protecting her son’s perfect life.
The guest room felt cold and lifeless, like a hotel room. Aidan had cleared out all my things from our bedroom upstairs and arranged them here with robotic precision. My makeup vanity, useless now, sat in the corner with the mirror turned to face the wall.
Do you need anything? Aidan asked from the doorway, phone in hand. I have a fewer calls to make, but… I’m fine, I said, even though I wasn’t. What was the point of saying otherwise? Alyssa arrived right at five, as expected.
She came armed with casseroles and plenty of opinions. I sat at the dining room table, watching Alyssa arrange flowers in a vase while Aidan poured wine. The doctor said the scarring might get better over time, Aidan said, avoiding eye contact with either of us.
Well, there are always options, Alyssa replied, her voice overly cheerful. I know an excellent plastic surgeon in the city, very discreet. I stared at my untouched plate, pushing food around with my fork.
The insurance won’t cover cosmetic procedures, I said quietly. Oh, darling, Alyssa said, reaching across the table to pat my hand. We have to think about Aidan’s position at the firm.
Image is everything in corporate marketing. My fork slipped from my hand, clattering onto the plate. My face is an image problem, mother.
I asked sharply. Audrey, Aidan warned, but Alyssa carried on as if she hadn’t heard. I’m just being practical, she said.
Aidan has worked so hard to build his career. And now, with all the complications from the accident, she dabbed her lips with a napkin. Well, sometimes life forces us to make hard choices.
Complications. The word felt like poison in my mouth. You mean losing the babies? Aidan froze, his wine glass halfway to his lips.
We hadn’t talked about the pregnancy since the hospital. He didn’t even know I had planned to surprise him with the news that day. Audrey, he started, but I cut him off.
Did you tell her about the baby, Aidan? Or just about your wife’s ruined face? Alyssa gasped, her hand flying to her throat. A baby, she whispered. It doesn’t matter now, Aidan said quickly, standing up.
What matters is moving forward. Mother’s right. We need to think practically.
I looked at them both, my husband, who couldn’t meet my eyes, and his mother, who wouldn’t stop staring at my bandages. The perfect son and his perfect mother already planning my perfect recovery. I think I need to lie down, I said, pushing back from the table.
Of course, dear. Alyssa called after me. We’ll figure everything out.
In the guest room, their voices carried through the wall, muffled but clear enough. Poor thing, Alyssa was saying. But Aidan, you’re still young.
There will be other chances for children once everything is settled. Mom, please, Aidan said, sounding tired. I’m just saying you need to think about your future, both of your futures.
I touched the bandages on my face, feeling the rough gauze where smooth skin used to be. I thought about our wedding day, when Aidan used to say I looked like an angel. Now he couldn’t even look at me.
My phone buzzed, pulling me out of my thoughts. It was a text from an unknown number. Mrs. Griffin, my name is Maxime Cressy.
I’m the father of the young man who caused her accident. Please, I need to speak with you. I stared at the message, my fingers hovering over the screen.
Through the wall, I could still hear Aidan and Alyssa planning my life without me. Something shifted inside me, not quite hope, but something stronger, something closer to purpose. I typed back a single word.
When? For weeks after I’d come home, I found Aidan’s whiskey bottle hidden behind the cleaning supplies under the kitchen sink. It was already half empty. I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t heard him stumbling around at 4 a.m., talking on his phone in what he thought was a whisper.
The bandages had come off the day before, and I avoided mirrors now, but I couldn’t avoid hearing Aidan’s late-night conversations. You should have seen her face today, he slurred to someone, laughing softly. Like that movie, you know, Two-Face from Batman.
There was a pause, followed by more drunken laughter. I know, I know, I shouldn’t joke, but man, you try living with it. I stood in the dark kitchen, holding his hidden whiskey bottle, and felt something break deep inside me.
The next morning, Aidan acted like everything was normal. He kissed me on the unscarred side of my face before heading to work. Big presentation today, he said, adjusting his tie.
Don’t wait up. I waited until his car drove away before heading upstairs to our bedroom. I hadn’t been up there since coming home, respecting his unspoken rule of keeping me out of sight in the guest room.
Everything was exactly as I’d left it the morning of the accident, except for one thing. My old art supplies were missing from the closet. I found them in the garage, buried under Christmas decorations.
The wooden box still had my name carved into it, a wedding gift from my grandmother. Inside, the brushes lay untouched, along with the expensive oil paints Aidan had once bought me when I mentioned wanting to paint again. You should focus on more practical things, Alyssa had said back then.
Aidan needs a wife, not an artist. I set up the easel in the guest room, facing the window. Morning light poured across the canvas as I mixed colors, letting muscle memory take over.
Red for anger, black for grief, yellow for the hope I used to feel. The brush moved on its own, creating something raw and powerful. Hours passed without me noticing.
When the front door opened and closed, I heard Aidan’s footsteps pause outside my door. Mother’s here for dinner, he called. I didn’t respond, adding another streak of red to the canvas.
The door opened. Audrey, what are you? Aidan stopped mid-sentence. What is that supposed to be? I stepped back from the painting.
It was a woman’s face, split down the middle. One side was flawless and perfect. The other was distorted, fractured, with a wine glass pressed to smiling lips.
It’s you, Alyssa said from behind him, her voice sharp. Or rather, what you’ve become. I looked at Aidan as his face turned pale.
I call it Two-Face, I said quietly. Funny, right? Aidan’s mouth opened, but no words came out. His eyes, though, betrayed him.
Don’t you understand? I asked softly, though I already knew the answer. I heard you last night, Aidan. And the night before that.
And the night before that, I said calmly. Alyssa quickly stepped between us. Audrey, Aidan has been under so much stress.