I was diagnosed with chronic endometriosis, and the doctor said that getting pregnant might ease the symptoms; otherwise, a hysterectomy might be my only option. But ever since Ethan regained his sight, he’s barely touched me. He just gives me a quick kiss on the forehead, saying he’s too tired. I tried to be understanding, figuring he must be worn out from work at Sunset Therapeutics. But then, one night, after he turned over, facing away, I heard him mumble: “You know, maybe you should go to Revive Aesthetics and ask about that laser scar removal thing, see if they can do anything.” I froze. It had been so long since I’d felt that sting of shame, flushing my face hot and cold. But more than shame, I was in shock. Was Ethan… repulsed by my face? My name’s Grace Holloway, and I’m 28 years old. My husband, Ethan Rivers, is a blind massage therapist, three years younger than me. We met through a matchmaker service. I had been burned in a house fire, leaving a scar that stretches down the side of my cheek and neck—a deep, twisting mark that used to make me shudder. I delayed marriage because of it. My parents, traditional as they were, finally encouraged me to use Matchmaker Services and meet Ethan. The matchmaker, thrilled, had told us our names were a match made in poetry. Ethan and Grace—it sounded like a pair meant to be together. “Just think,” she whispered to me, “he’s blind. He can’t even see your scars, so he won’t mind.” Ethan didn’t know about my scars. That made him even more accepting when he heard my background and circumstances. He was gentle and kind, and he had a way with the guitar, playing in the lobby while I’d sing for our clients, my voice unexpectedly clear and ringing. Our regulars even joked we were “the perfect harmony.” Life had closed doors for each of us, but meeting filled what had been missing. To most people, we were both tragic and enviable at the same time, as though we’d each found our soulmate despite fate’s challenges. Ethan hadn’t been blind since birth; an accident in a factory left his eyes permanently damaged from severe light exposure. For years, despite no medical progress, I’d still take him from doctor to doctor, hoping someone could help. After he lost his sight, Ethan learned the art of massage, and I left my job to support him, running the business side of Sunset Therapeutics. “Grace, I love you. I’d give anything to see your face…though I know I never will.” He used to touch my face, tracing my features with gentle fingers, that soft smile of his almost sorrowful. With no family left, I knew I was his only support in the world. Holding his hand to my cheek, I secretly made a promise to myself: I would do everything possible to restore his sight. Maggie, my best friend, warned me in quiet moments that Ethan’s good looks were bound to spell trouble if he ever regained his vision. Sometimes, I worried she might be right. But I’d forget it every time I saw Ethan’s daily struggle. All I wanted was his happiness and peace. One day, as I served him his favorite food—a bit of fried tuna eye, cooked just the way he liked it—I told him softly, “If you could see again, that’d be wonderful. But even if not, isn’t our life good as it is? Being able to see would just be icing on the cake.” Ethan nodded, shyly. He always relied on me without question, never starting a fight. Maybe it was all the prayers, or the endless doctor visits, or maybe even the fish eyes he’d been eating. Because, one day, he could see again. It happened when he accurately reached for a toothpaste tube that had fallen to the floor. Overwhelmed, I waved my hand in front of him. “Ethan, you can really see me?” I was in the kitchen, cooking while wearing a mask to avoid the fumes, as we hadn’t gotten a proper exhaust installed yet to save money. He rubbed his eyes, his excitement spilling into a loud shout. Then he asked me to remove my mask, eager to see me for the first time. “Grace, you don’t know how I’ve dreamed of this moment. Your voice is so sweet…you must be beautiful, I…” I froze, holding onto my mask. It hit me then how terrified I was of him seeing my face. The structure of my features was fine enough, but time had eroded whatever youth I’d once had. And of course, there was that long scar running along my cheek. Before I could think, he’d pulled off my mask, impatient. “Honey!” The ugly scar was exposed in the smoky kitchen air, and time seemed to freeze. My heart sank as I saw, in Ethan’s clear blue eyes, an unmistakable flicker of disappointment. Didn’t he know I’d once been beautiful too? Ignoring the tears prickling my eyes, I turned back to the stove, where the tuna eyes had burned, black and sticky at the bottom of the pan. They looked horribly unappetizing. “Don’t worry about it, honey,” Ethan murmured, wrapping his arms around me from behind and burying his face into my neck. “I still love you. Don’t doubt it.” The tears spilled over then, feeling both relieved and vulnerable in his embrace. Gathering my courage, I told him about my health condition. The doctor had recently diagnosed me with chronic endometriosis, a common issue, he’d said, for women. Getting pregnant might relieve the symptoms; otherwise, surgery might be the only option. The surgery was mostly effective, though it would nearly eliminate my chance of ever having kids. Embarrassed, I explained, “With you being blind all this time, we always used protection. We just didn’t plan on a baby.” There was a hint of longing in my voice, a hope I’d buried until now. I had once prepared myself to be childless my whole life, solely focused on supporting Ethan. He only nodded, barely smiling, though I saw his gaze linger on my scar. In the days that followed, he was more attentive, even helping with the housework. I began trying everything to get pregnant—lying with my legs up against the wall for half an hour each night, drinking herbal teas I could barely stomach. Ethan adjusted quickly to his new life, as if he had never lost his sight at all. But slowly, I began to notice something was off. It all started one evening after a familiar client had come by. Her name was Brittany Monroe. She was around twenty, beautiful, and striking, especially with her exaggerated curves. During one chat, she’d casually mentioned her breast enhancement. “In my line of work, you know, it’s all about looks and body. You have to look the part to work in public relations.” She’d said it without a thought, despite my scarred face. She had chronic back pain and often visited our massage parlor. This time was different though—Ethan could finally see her. It happened to be my ovulation period, and that night, I turned off the lights and tried to reach for him, gently caressing his shoulders. “Ethan…” But he wouldn’t touch me, only kissing my forehead and saying he was too tired. I thought it was because he was overworked, and I understood, nodding my agreement. Then I heard him, turning over, muttering: “You know, maybe you should check in with Revive Aesthetics, see if that laser scar removal thing can do anything.” I was stunned. I hadn’t felt that shame in so long—it flooded my face hot and cold. But above all, I was shocked. Was Ethan repulsed by my face?
Ethan’s vision returned, and he was soon back in his social circles, fitting in as if he’d never left. I, however, became more withdrawn, changing from lively to quiet and distant. I even spent a painful amount on a custom prosthetic skin cover, applying adhesive every day to hide the scar. Every removal hurt like fire, but I didn’t regret it if it helped him see me as a bit more acceptable. “Grace, you’ve got a bit of a people-pleasing problem, don’t you?” Maggie chastised me, exasperated at my blindness to the situation. I stayed calm, as usual. “It’s okay. He’s just excited about seeing again—it’s bound to take some adjustment. Once I get pregnant, things will settle down.” I’d believed that having a baby would bind him to us, keep him from straying. Then, things began to spiral out of control, shattering every last defense I’d held up in our marriage. Ethan stopped showing up at Sunset Therapeutics as often, saying he didn’t want to “fake being blind” anymore. At home, he slipped into his old habits, going back to doing nothing around the house, and soon became glued to his phone and video games. I reminded him that staring at a screen wasn’t good for his newly healed eyes, but he only snapped back at me: “Don’t bother me! I finally get to see, and I want to take in all the beauty I missed. Let me enjoy it.” Beauty, indeed, and not just the beauty of nature. I pursed my lips. He didn’t know I was aware that each night, he’d scroll through social media, liking videos of attractive women. Seeing him prefer those women on a screen over his own wife lying next to him was a wound that bled fresh each time. That evening, as I was heading out, I mentioned offhandedly that Frank Hall and Brittany Monroe would be at the massage parlor, so I’d be going there in person. The moment he heard those names, Ethan suddenly seemed energized, getting on his bike and speeding off ahead of me. Surprised, I raised an eyebrow. He mumbled something about wanting fishing tips from Frank. I nodded, saying nothing, then headed inside to clean the massage tools. Ethan did talk to Frank about fishing tips for a bit, thanking him for all the fish he’d brought over the years. Then I heard the chime of the shop’s door. “Oh, wow, it’s pouring rain out there—I forgot my umbrella. So hot and sticky out,” came Brittany’s voice. She was our regular, the PR girl. Last time, Ethan still pretended to be blind while massaging her. But here he was, acting blind again. “Guess we’re getting a little rain blessing,” he laughed. She giggled, her perfume drifting through the shop as she replied, “Well, if this is rain’s gift, then you can give me my massage.” My instincts kicked in, and I peered through the crack in the door. Brittany was radiant, with designer clothes and flawless makeup. While I doubted she’d fall for Ethan, it wasn’t impossible that he’d fall for her looks. “Ethan, I have to run an errand. I’ll be back soon. Please take care of Brittany’s session,” I told him. Our only other employee had called in sick, so he was alone with her. Ethan didn’t even blink at me as I left. His face seemed flushed, his usual pale complexion touched with red. “Sure thing, honey.” When I left, I made sure to close the door and adjust the blinds, leaving nothing to chance. What he didn’t know was that I’d followed Maggie’s advice and installed a tiny camera to watch the shop’s main area. After leaving, I made my way to a nearby café, where I opened the video feed on my phone. There she was, easing off her black stockings, shrugging out of her jacket to reveal her waistline, and lying down on the massage table. I held my breath, unable to tear my eyes away from the screen. They started talking, laughing, and I saw Ethan remove his gloves, applying the massage oil with his bare hands. Usually, we required gloves for hygiene purposes. Then, my heart stopped at what I saw next. What began as a straightforward massage quickly turned into something more. I could see the blush rising on his face. Brittany moaned softly, “It’s so hot in here. Why don’t you turn on the fan?” I silently willed him to turn on the fan—there were two ceiling fans in the small shop. But he just told her, “The fan’s broken.” Though it wasn’t summer yet, the humidity was still intense, and I was dripping sweat sitting in the café. Brittany muttered, “Oh,” looking visibly uncomfortable in the heat. Then she asked, “Can you actually see?” Ethan shook his head, playing innocent. “No, ma’am. I’m as blind as ever.” “Good, because this heat is killing me.” And then, as I watched, speechless, Brittany casually unbuttoned her blouse, exposing herself to the “blind” massage therapist.
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