I woke up and something was different.
Not wrong. Just different. The darkness I'd lived in for seven years felt thinner. Like a curtain I could almost push through. I blinked. Once. Twice. And then the world came back.
Light poured through the bedroom window in soft yellow streaks. I saw the ceiling. White. Textured. I saw my hand in front of my face—fingers, knuckles, the thin scar across my thumb from a cooking accident in college. I gasped and sat up too fast. The room spun. Colors and shapes rushed at me all at once. The navy comforter. The silver lamp on the nightstand. The framed photo of me and Liam on the dresser, both of us smiling at a beach I couldn't remember anymore.
I could see.
I could see.
My hands shook as I grabbed my phone from the nightstand. I wanted to call Liam. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run to him and watch his face light up when I told him. Seven years. Seven years of darkness, and now—
I stopped.
There was something on the floor beside the bed. A scrap of red lace. I leaned over. It was a thong. Tiny. Expensive-looking. Definitely not mine. I stared at it. My brain tried to make sense of it, tried to find an explanation that didn't hurt. Maybe the cleaning lady left it? Maybe it got mixed up in the laundry?
Then I saw the perfume bottle on the nightstand. Small. Pink glass. I picked it up and read the label. Haisley's signature scent. The one she wore every single day. The one I used to smell on her when she hugged me.
My stomach dropped.
I set the bottle down carefully. My hands were still shaking. I heard Liam's voice coming from somewhere in the apartment. Low. Warm. The voice I'd loved for seven years. I stood up slowly and followed the sound down the hallway. My legs felt strange. I hadn't walked without my cane in so long. I kept one hand on the wall to steady myself.
The hallway opened into the living room. Liam's home office was on the far side, separated by a glass partition. I could see everything.
Liam was on one knee.
Haisley stood in front of him. She wore a white silk blouse and a pencil skirt. Her dark hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail. She was crying. Happy tears. The kind I thought I'd cry on my wedding day.
Liam held a small blue box in his hand. Tiffany. He pulled out a ring—platinum, princess cut, bigger than the one he gave me—and slid it onto her finger.
"You're the only one I've ever wanted," he said.
Haisley cupped his face with both hands and kissed him. Deep. Slow. The kind of kiss that said *mine*.
I pressed my back against the wall. My knees buckled. I slid down to the floor and sat there, staring at the white carpet. I didn't make a sound. I didn't cry. I just sat there and watched my entire life collapse through a sheet of glass.
I don't know how long I stayed there. Eventually, I heard the office door open. I heard their voices, low and laughing. I heard the front door close. Liam left with her. He didn't even check on me.
I stood up. Walked back to the bedroom. Sat on the edge of the bed. My phone buzzed.
A message. Unknown number. I opened it.
A video. Selfie angle. Haisley's face filled the screen, her smile wide and smug. The camera panned down to show Liam on one knee, the ring, the kiss. The whole thing. She'd recorded it. She'd sent it to me.
She wanted me to know.
I stared at the screen. My hands didn't shake anymore. I took a screenshot. Then another. I opened my cloud storage and created a new folder. I named it *Evidence*. I uploaded the video. I uploaded the screenshots. I set my phone face-down on the nightstand.
Then I stood up, walked to the closet, and found my white cane. I ran my fingers over the smooth surface. I'd carried this thing for seven years. It had been my eyes. My guide. My proof that I was broken.
Now it was going to be my weapon.
I heard the front door open. Liam's voice called out. "Etta? Baby, you awake?"
I picked up the cane. Took a breath. And walked out into the living room.
He was standing by the kitchen counter, still in his suit. He smiled when he saw me. That perfect, warm, lying smile.
"Hey," he said. He crossed the room and kissed my forehead. "Did you eat? I can make you something."
I tilted my head up. Like I was searching for his voice. Like I couldn't see the guilt in his eyes or the faint smudge of Haisley's lipstick on his collar.
"I'm okay," I said softly. "I had some toast."
"Good." He squeezed my shoulder. "I've got a few calls to make. Wedding stuff. You need anything?"
I shook my head. "No. I'm fine."
He kissed my forehead again and walked toward his office. I stood there, cane in hand, and smiled.
I could see everything now.
And he had no idea.
