My Surgeon Husband Rebuilt My Face To Match His First Love’s Chapter 02
The Other Bride
For a long moment, I cannot breathe.
The woman in the room looks into the mirror, and I see my own face staring back.
This is not some passing resemblance people laugh about and forget.
Her brows, her eyes, the curve of her lips, even the shape of her jaw are exactly like mine.
My fingers go cold around the edge of the door.
Then another thought hits me, worse than the first.
My face is not the one I was born with.
Five years ago, on the way back from a work trip, I am in a terrible car crash.
I survive, barely, but my face is ruined.
After that, every time I step outside, people stare. Some look away too fast. Some stare too long. A few even move around me like my scars are contagious.
My company lets me go in the politest way possible, saying my position requires a public image they can no longer support. Rent, medical bills, and pitying looks pile up until I can hardly breathe.
That is the darkest time of my life.
I even try to end my life.
That is when I meet Graham Pierce.
He is one of the best reconstructive plastic surgeons in the country. He tells me he is willing to perform my surgery for free.
At first, I do not believe him. Good things like that do not happen to people like me.
But he smiles and says, “Think of it as me trying to do one decent thing. I can’t stand by and watch a beautiful life disappear.”
So I say yes.
Graham gives me a new face. It is perfect and beautiful, but completely unfamiliar.
Sometimes I wake up, see myself in the mirror, and need a few seconds to remember that the stranger looking back is supposed to be me.
I ask him once why he does not make me look the way I used to.
He smiles and says, “Think of it as my one good deed. I can’t stand by and watch a beautiful life disappear.”
Back then, I am too grateful to doubt him.
After that, Graham starts chasing me. He is handsome, patient, and so gentle that I fall before I even realize I am falling.
He loves my face more than anyone else.
His favorite thing is to hold my cheeks and kiss me, slow and careful, like he is afraid to damage something priceless.
He always says, “Elena, you are my greatest work of art.”
I used to think those words were love.
Now I stand outside this half-closed door, staring at another woman with the same face, and my stomach turns.
By the time the wedding ends, Graham is gone.
I call him again and again, but every call slips into a cold, empty line. Not one answer.
A while later, his text comes in.
He says there is an emergency at the hospital tonight and he may come home very late.
Under the message, he sends a cute little sticker, the kind he always uses when he wants me to smile.
I stare at it for a long time, but I cannot make myself smile.
What is going on?
Why does that woman have my face?
A dull ache spreads through my lower stomach.
I press one hand against it and drive home alone. For a while, I just sit there in the silence.
Then, out of habit, I go into the kitchen and make a few simple dishes.
We have been busy with the wedding all day. Graham has barely eaten.
Even now, even with my mind falling apart, some stupid part of me still thinks of that.
I pack the food and drive to St. Catherine’s Medical Center.
As soon as I reach the entrance, I run into Jenna, one of Graham’s colleagues.
She smiles when she sees me, then pauses.
“Elena? When did you leave? I just saw you in Dr. Pierce’s office.”
My heart sinks.
The bad feeling inside me grows heavier.
Was it her?
The woman with my face?
Did she come here to see Graham?
I force myself to smile at Jenna, but I do not remember what I say.
My hands feel numb around the food container as I walk through the hospital halls.
The lights are too bright. The air smells faintly of disinfectant.
Every step takes me closer to an answer I suddenly do not want.
When I reach Graham’s office, I lift my hand to knock.
Before my knuckles touch the door, I hear voices inside.
“Violet, stop coming to see me,” Graham says. “I’m married.”