Noel has been coming home less frequently lately.

He says the company is working on a major project and that he's working late into the night.

I choose to believe him, just as I once believed he would never be repulsed by me.

Then one evening, Noel came home unusually early. He said he wanted to take a shower and relax.

His phone buzzed continuously, with a flurry of WhatsApp messages appearing on the screen.

“Darling, are you coming over tonight? I miss you.”

My heart stopped.

Looking again, her WhatsApp profile picture was a series of unfamiliar girls' photos.

Young and beautiful, radiant as a flower—exactly like the young me.

I recognized her. The waitress from the newly opened café in the neighborhood, the one who always smiled sweetly at Noel.

So, his “overtime” had been spent there.

I stood before the mirror, tracing the scar on my face with trembling fingers.

Fifteen years later, that ugly mark still stands out, a glaring reminder of the wound that will never heal in my heart.

I gently placed the phone back, as if nothing had happened.

Noel emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, his hair still dripping.

He smiled at me, a smile that once made my heart flutter, but now only filled me with nausea.

I watched as he picked up his phone and couldn’t help but curl his lips into a smile.

“Amara, I might have to work late again tomorrow,” he said nonchalantly. “This project has been really demanding lately.”

I nodded, struggling to contain my anger and sadness, and replied softly, “It’s okay. Just take care of yourself.”

Noel seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, probably because I didn’t press him further.

He came over, aiming to give me a gentle kiss on the face, but ended up just hugging me instead. “You’re so wonderful.”

I retreated to the studio, my trembling hands picking up a paintbrush, but I couldn’t bring myself to start on the canvas.

My vision blurred more and more.

A wave of intense dizziness and nausea overcame me, my stomach convulsing but producing nothing.

The paintbrush slipped from my grasp as I curled up in the corner, clutching my knees tightly.