A flat voice spoke—“Home. Messages. Double tap to open.” Blind-assist. I swiped, counting taps, hoping to reach my best friend’s name.
Instead, a voice note burst out:
“Howard, she called me Mama today. First time. You should’ve heard her. Let her say Dada for you next time.”
Amber.
My throat tightened. I was holding his phone, not mine.
I tapped again, and another message played.
“Can she call you Dada now? That’s huge. I’ll put Faye to bed and come over.”
His voice this time... low, full of joy. A joy I hadn’t heard in years.
I thought about the night before I was taken. Waking up for water, thinking he was in the study working. He wasn’t. He was with her.
Our wedding night flashed in my mind. I’d told him, “Howard, if you ever stop loving me, I'll give you back the ring, walk away and you’ll never see me again.”
He’d kissed me and sworn, “If I betray you, I’ll die alone.”
Footsteps came from the kitchen. I shoved the phone back in place.
Howard returned with the soup, sitting close enough that I could feel his breath on my cheek. “Here. Let me feed you.” He blew on the spoon, holding it like we were still in love.
Then his phone rang. He hesitated, then answered.
“Boss, the deal’s ready. Needs your signature.”
That voice wasn’t one of his men. It was Amber.
And the “deal” was just their way of saying she wanted him to come over.
There was a faint cry in the background. A baby’s.
Howard’s tone changed instantly. “On my way.”
He set the soup in my hands. “Something came up. Eat while it’s hot.”
I smiled, hiding the storm in my chest. “Go. I’ll be fine.”
He stared at me like he couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t clinging to him. But the baby mattered more. “You’re good, Faye,” he murmured, patting my head before leaving.
Once the door shut, I picked up my own phone this time.
I sent a voice note to Nico, my assistant who had run my gallery for years. “Find me a cornea donor. Book me a seat on the first flight out the day after tomorrow.”
My eyes had been my livelihood… every shade, every stroke, every piece of light on canvas passed through them before it reached the world. Howard had stolen them for his mistress. So I would steal everything from him in return.
But first, I needed eyes.
I used to paint every day. Colors, light, beauty. I believed in them the way I believed in him. But love fades faster than paint on a wall. And once it’s gone, all you see are the cracks.
Howard had made his choice. Now it was my turn.
I didn’t want him anymore.
--
When I woke, the light behind my eyelids told me it was already midday. The room was quiet. Too quiet.
I pushed myself up and tried to make my way to the bathroom, counting my steps. I still wasn’t used to walking blind. My shin smashed into the corner of a table, sending me crashing to the floor. I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood.
The door opened. Footsteps quick. It’s Howard.
“Faye! What the hell are you doing on the floor?” He crossed the room fast, “You should’ve called me. Could’ve told me you needed something. Why didn’t you wait? I just stepped out for a minute.”
Lies. His clothes didn’t smell of wind or street. He hadn’t stepped outside at all.
He reached for me, and I forced my voice to stay flat. “I’m fine. Go back to whatever kept you busy.”
His hand came down on my hair in that patronizing pat he used to use in public, “There’s nothing more important than you.”
Once, those words would have made me smile. Once, I would have believed them. But now? Nothing.
I let him guide me to the bathroom, his grip firm on my arm like I might try to run. When I came out, he asked, “What do you feel like eating? I’ll make it.”
I ignored that. “I want to go home.”
He hesitated. “But your eyes…”
“Do you think I see better here? I don’t know this place. Of course I’ll run into things. At home, I know where everything is. I’ll manage.”
“Fine. I’ll take you home.”
He handled the discharge like he was signing a business deal, then drove me back to the villa. I sank into the sofa, already mapping the quickest way to leave without him noticing.
Then he spoke, “Faye, there’s something I need to tell you. A friend of mine lost his wife in childbirth. Yesterday, he got into a bad accident. He didn’t make it. Before he died, he asked me to take care of his baby. I couldn’t say no. The kid’s still in the hospital, but I’ll bring her home tomorrow.”
He was good. If I didn’t already know the truth, I might’ve swallowed that whole.
I took a sip of water, keeping my voice even. “Alright. Bring that kid tomorrow.”
His arm came around my shoulders and kissed me. “That’s why I love you. Always thinking of others. From now on, we’ll be a family!”
I smiled faintly, the kind of smile a portrait wears when the artist has stopped loving the subject. Inside, I was already gone.
He cooked dinner. I pushed food around my plate, swallowing just enough to keep him from asking questions. Still, he noticed.
“You barely touched it. What’s wrong? I’ll make something else.”
It wasn’t the food. It was him. It was everything.
I shook my head, “I’m full.”
He started to press, but then the doorbell rang.
