Chapter 4

He came home extremely late that night.

I didn't ask him any questions, and he didn't start another fight.

We acted like it was just a minor, insignificant disagreement.

But both of us knew that this argument was like a thorn, buried deep inside our hearts.

A few days later, while doing the laundry, I found a flyer for an MBA program in his coat pocket.

"Are you thinking about going back to school?" I asked casually.

He snatched the flyer from my hand, his face flushing with embarrassment, and ripped it to shreds before throwing it in the trash.

"It was just trash some street recruiter handed me."

"If you want to get your master's, I'll support you," I said gently.

Like a dog whose tail had been stepped on, he yelled, "It's just a stupid piece of paper! I don't need it!"

After that, we couldn't even have a normal conversation. It was either sharp sarcasm or icy silence.

He continued to come home late, sometimes smelling faintly of expensive women's perfume.

His phone never left his hand. Sometimes, he would stare at it and smile so warmly—a smile he hadn't given me in years.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. Catching him smiling at his phone again, I asked point-blank, "Are you seeing someone else?"

His smile vanished, twisting into an ugly scowl.

"Kate, are you insane?!"

"Just because I've been busy for a few days, you think I'm cheating on you?!"

His eyes swept over my clothes, and his anger flared even hotter.

"And what’s with you wearing that scoop-neck top today? Are you doing this on purpose?"

"You're just trying to remind me of those ugly scars on your neck, aren't you? Trying to guilt-trip me into staying, reminding me that I 'owe' you my life!"

"Kate, I gave up a career in New York just to stay in this dead-end town with you. My entire future was ruined because of you! What more do you want?!"

"If I knew you'd turn into this, I wish that lab explosion had just killed you back then!"

The words echoed in the quiet living room. We both froze.

Even Alex realized he had gone too far. He panicked, grabbed his car keys, and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls rattled.

I shivered.

I didn't know if I was shaking from the loud noise, or from the absolute ice that had just settled into my chest.

My scars were hideous. They stretched from my neck, down my shoulder, and covered my entire upper arm.

They were bumpy, red, and twisted.

During our senior year of college, I was helping Alex with his graduation project in the chemistry lab.

But he rushed the procedure, causing a highly volatile chemical reaction to explode.

In that split second, I saw him freeze in terror. Without thinking, I threw my weight into him, shoving him out of the blast zone. My own upper body took the brunt of the fire.

That was how I got these terrifying scars.

For a twenty-two-year-old girl, it was the end of the world.

It meant enduring whispered comments, stares on the street, and the fear of never being loved.

I used to cry myself to sleep every single night in the hospital.

While I was recovering, Alex received a prestigious fellowship offer in New York. But he turned it down.

He told me he wanted to stay and take care of me. He said he couldn't leave me alone, and the moment I was discharged, he proposed.

"Meeting you is the best thing that ever happened to me," he had whispered.

I believed him. I thought his love was pure.

I never could have guessed that four years later, I would hear his real thoughts.

All this time, he felt trapped. He saw me as a parasite demanding payback, the villain who ruined his bright future.

Our entire marriage was built on a foundation of guilt and resentment.

Slowly, I reached up and ran my fingers over the rough, uneven skin of my shoulder.

Because of the summer heat, I had simply worn a comfortable tank top at home. I wasn't trying to guilt-trip him.

I had just forgotten to hide my scars. And it had disgusted him.