Tearing Off My Face

Asher had been rarely coming home lately.

He said his company was preparing for a major project, and he was working overtime every day.

I chose to believe him, just like I believed him back then when he promised he would never look down on me.

It wasn't until that night that I was disillusioned. Asher unexpectedly returned home early, saying he wanted to take a shower and relax.

His phone vibrated incessantly, with one WhatsApp message after another appearing on the screen. "Darling, are you coming tonight? I miss you so much."

My heart skipped a beat.

I took a closer look and found the profile picture belonged to a young and unfamiliar girl.

The girl was beautiful and vibrant, just like I was in my youth.

But I recognized her later.

She was the waitress at the newly opened café in our neighborhood, always greeting Asher with a charming smile.

So, he "worked overtime" there.

I stood in front of the mirror, my trembling fingers gently tracing the noticeable scar on my face.

Fifteen years had passed, yet that ugly mark remained glaring, like the wound in my heart that refused to heal.