Chapter 18
When I was thirty–two, I went back home to visit.
My parents were getting older and their health wasn’t great.
I wanted to spend more time with them.
Walking down those familiar streets felt like stepping into another lifetime.
Everything here was exactly the same, but I wasn’t the same person who’d left.
The campus was full of new faces–my old classmates had scattered to the winds.
Some had gotten married and had kids, others were killing it in their careers, and some were still struggling to make it.
And me? I’d become this local legend with my scarred face.
“Aurelia’s doing amazing now–she’s making six figures!”
“Yeah, to come back from all that and still be so successful–incredible.”
“If that happened to me, I would’ve just given up completely.”
Walking past campus, I spotted a familiar figure.
FS
Alistair.
ing off into space.
He was sitting on the bench where we used to hang out all the time, just staring
Twelve years.
He’d aged so much–gray hair at his temples already.
The confident guy I used to know looked completely worn down now.
I started to turn around and leave without saying anything.
“Aurelia.”
He called out to me.
His voice was still familiar, just rougher now.
I stopped walking but didn’t turn around.
“I knew you’d come back eventually.” His voice was so quiet, like he was afraid of startling me.
“I come sit here every year, hoping I might run into you,”
“It’s been twelve years. You still can’t forgive me?”
I turned around and looked at him calmly.
He was so much thinner now, with hollow cheeks and sharp cheekbones.
He was wearing a black suit, but it couldn’t hide how exhausted he looked.
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My Childhood Ex Ruined My Face for His Crush? Cute. I Ruined Their Lives
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Chapter 18
“Alistair, this isn’t about forgiveness.”
My voice was completely steady, like I was talking about someone else’s life.
“Some things, once they happen, they’ve happened.”
“A broken mirror might get glued back together, but you can still see all the cracks.”
He gave me this bitter smile. “I know. But I…”
“But what?” I cut him off. “You’ve had a rough time these past few years? You’re suffering?”
“So what?”
“Does your suffering compare to what I went through on that operating table?”
“Does it compare to the despair I felt every day looking at a stranger in the mirror?”
“Does it compare to the ten years it took me to have the courage to leave the house without makeup?”
He had no answer for that.
What right did he have to think his pain could even come close to mine?
He’d lost love. I’d lost my face, my dignity, the person I used to be.
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