If you could just try to understand— Understand what? I snapped, turning to face them fully. I saw them both flinch. That my husband makes jokes about my scars? That he hides bottles all over the house? That he can’t even sleep in the same room as me anymore? That’s not fair, Aidan protested.
I’m trying to— To what? I interrupted. Keep up appearances? I pointed to the painting. Is this the kind of appearance you want? Alyssa stiffened, her voice cold.
Perhaps this outburst is a sign you need professional help. I laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that made them both step back. Professional help? Like that plastic surgeon you keep pushing? The one who can fix Aidan’s image problems? Audrey, please, Aidan said, reaching for me.
I stepped away. Don’t worry, I said. Picking up my brush again.
I’m already working on fixing everything. They left the room, whispering to each other. I turned back to my canvas, adding the final touch.
A faint text message in the background. Tomorrow at three. I’ll explain everything.
Maxime Cressy. I stepped back and studied my work. Both sides of the face in the painting were smiling, but for very different reasons.
Tomorrow, I’d meet the father of the man who destroyed my life. Tomorrow, everything would change. The café Maxime Cressy chose was exactly what I expected.
Quiet, expensive, and far from anywhere Aidan or Alyssa might go. I wore a scarf partially covering my face. It drew less attention than the medical mask I’d gotten used to wearing in public.
Maxime stood as I approached the table. I recognized the guilt in his eyes immediately. I’d seen it in the mirror enough lately.
The look of someone haunted by what they couldn’t change. Mrs. Griffin, he said softly. Thank you for coming.
Audrey, I corrected as I sat down. Your son, he’s in rehab? Maxime’s hands tightened around his coffee cup. He was.
The accident happened after he left his third facility. I should have seen it coming. A waitress approached, hesitating when she saw my scarf before forcing a polite smile.
I ordered black coffee and waited for her to leave before speaking again. Why did you want to meet? Maxime pulled a folder from his bag and slid it across the table. These are brochures from the top reconstructive surgeons in the country.
I’ve already spoken with Dr. Isaac in Jacksonville. He’s willing to take your case. I stared at the glossy pages filled with before and after photos of smiling patients.
Insurance won’t cover it, I said flatly. I’m not talking about insurance. Maxime said, his voice cracking.
I’m offering to pay for everything. It’s the least I can do. I can do this after what my son, Maxime, began.
But I cut him off. Why? The word came out sharper than I meant. Because I failed him, Maxime said simply.
And in failing him, I failed you too. Money can’t fix everything, but it can fix this. He gestured vaguely toward my face.
I opened the brochure, scanning Dr. Isaac’s credentials. The costs listed made my stomach twist. It was more than Aiden earned in a year.
Your husband doesn’t know you’re here, Maxime said. It wasn’t a question. No.
Good. He leaned in closer. Because there’s something else you need to know.
I gripped my coffee cup as he continued. The night of the accident, my son wasn’t alone in the car. My chest tightened, but I stayed silent, waiting.
There was a woman with him. Maxime said, his voice heavy. She’s someone’s wife.
They’d been meeting at the Golden Leaf Hotel every Saturday for months. The Golden Leaf. The same place where Aiden had his so-called weekly client meetings.
The woman survived. Maxime went on. No injuries.
She left the scene before the police arrived. My son was too drunk to remember her name, but he remembered where she worked. He slid a paper across the table.
I glanced at it, feeling my stomach churn. Griffin Marketing, Associates. You’re lying, I whispered.
I wish I were, Maxime said, his expression grim. For both our sakes. He pulled out his phone and showed me a grainy security camera image.
A woman hurried through a hotel lobby, followed by a man in a gray suit. A very familiar suit. Aiden, I murmured, my voice barely audible.
Why are you showing me this? Because you deserve to know the whole truth, Maxime said. And because I’m offering you a choice. He tapped the brochures on the table.
Dr. Isaac can do the surgery next month. He can make you look exactly like you did before. He paused.
Or he can make you look like someone else. Someone Aiden and his friend wouldn’t recognize. I thought about Aiden’s late-night phone calls, his cruel jokes, the way he avoided looking at me.
I thought about Alyssa’s constant hints about divorce and fresh starts. Why would I want that? I asked quietly. Maxime’s smile was sad but knowing.
Because sometimes the best revenge isn’t confrontation. It’s making them live with their guilt while you move on. While you become someone stronger.
I touched the edge of my scarf, feeling the rough scars underneath. When does Dr. Isaac need an answer? Take your time, Maxime stood, leaving a business card beside the brochures. But remember, this isn’t just about fixing what’s broken.
It’s about choosing who you want to be. I sat there long after he left, staring at the security camera photo of Aiden next to an unfamiliar woman. My heart raced.
My emotions tangled in anger, betrayal, and something I hadn’t felt in weeks, clarity. Finally, I pulled out my phone and typed a message to Maxime. I choose someone new.
His reply came almost instantly. Welcome to your second chance, Audrey. I walked home slowly, thinking about what to pack, what to leave behind, and how to disappear completely.
Sometimes the best revenge isn’t ruining someone else’s life. It’s rebuilding your own. Jacksonville felt like a different world.
Dr. Isaac’s private clinic was on the top floor of a sleek building made of glass and chrome. Everything about it felt quiet and discreet. I told Aiden I was visiting my aunt in Kentucky for a few months to heal emotionally.
He seemed relieved, happy to have an excuse not to deal with me. The changes will be significant, Dr. Isaac said, studying my file, but subtle enough to look natural. The goal isn’t to make a new person.
It’s to reveal who you could have been. I looked at the digital mock-ups on his tablet. The woman in the after images wasn’t me, but she wasn’t a stranger either.
She was who I might have been in another life, one where Aiden’s mistress hadn’t been in that car. How long until I can, I hesitated, unsure how to finish the sentence. Return? Revenge? Start over? For months for full recovery, Dr. Isaac said kindly.
Maxime mentioned you’d be staying at his apartment during the process. I nodded. Maxime’s San Marco apartment had become my safe place.
It was filled with his late wife’s art collection and rarely used now that he spent most of his time at his Connecticut home. The first surgery was scheduled for tomorrow. That night, I sat in Maxime’s apartment, watching the city lights twinkle like stars.
My phone buzzed. It was Aiden. How’s your aunt? His voice sounded slightly slurred.
Saturday night, Golden Leaf Hotel night. Fine, I replied, my fingers brushing the surgical consent forms on the coffee table. How’s work? Busy.
Listen, mother wants to know when you’re coming home. She’s worried about appearances. Of course she was.
I pictured them at their usual dinner, talking about how to handle me. The damaged goods. I need time, I said, the life slipping out easily now.
Right. Well, take care of yourself. He hung up before I could say anything else.
A moment later, my phone buzzed again. This time it was a text from Maxime. Ready for tomorrow? I started to reply yes, but stopped when another message appeared.
It was from an unknown number. Are you sure you want to know the truth about that night? My hands trembled as I typed back. Who is this? Someone who is there.
Someone who knows what really happened. Meet me at Jacksonville Zoo and Gardens. Midnight.
I stared at the message, my heart pounding. It could be a trap or it could be her, the woman from the hotel. The smart choice was to ignore it, to stick with my plan and go through with the surgery.
But something deep inside me needed to know. At 1215, I took a cab to Jacksonville Zoo and Gardens. The air was cool and the Hudson River shimmered like black silk under the moonlight.
A woman sat alone on a bench, her face hidden beneath a hoodie. Mrs. Griffin, she said softly as I approached. I walked closer and the woman pulled back her hood, revealing a face I knew from office party photos on Aiden’s desk.