A Love Turned RuthlessChapter 1
I lost my sight about ten years years ago, which was the only reason my younger sister dared to use me as her substitute, allowing me to stay by Tristan's side for six whole years. During that time, Tristan was the epitome of gentleness, transforming into what everyone admired as a devoted husband. I didn't even need a cane—he cared for me so attentively that he became a model spouse in the eyes of others.
But when I finally overcame countless obstacles to restore my sight and rushed to him, the first words I heard were, "For Anya, I wasted six years taking care of a blind woman. Now that Zara's pregnant, I doubt Anya will remain indifferent."
That same night, a traffic violation ticket landed in my hands. The surveillance footage showed Tristan and Anya tangled in passion inside his car. I ended everything without hesitation. Yet, the man who once dismissed me as a blind woman was the one who unraveled first.
***
"Mrs. Anders, your eyes have recovered remarkably well. All those days of regular injections and diligent treatment have paid off. It's heartbreaking to see how much you've suffered, especially with side effects like vomiting," the doctor said, his tone gentle yet professional.
The office was bright and sterile, the faint hum of machinery filling the silence. As soon as the doctor finished speaking, the nurses broke into smiles, their warm congratulations surrounding me. Their faces were kind, their words genuine, but they only added to the ache in my chest.
I had endured months of searing pain from daily injections, my body bruised and exhausted. My sole motivation had been Tristan—to surprise him, to see his face light up when I opened my eyes for the first time in years. But now, their cheerful voices grated against the memory of his words, the first ones I'd heard with my restored vision: "For Anya, I wasted six years taking care of a blind woman. Now that Zara is pregnant, I doubt she'll still remain indifferent."
If these kind-hearted people knew the truth, would they still congratulate me?
The side effects of the treatments had ravaged me—days spent clinging to the cold porcelain of our bathroom, my stomach twisting violently as I vomited over and over. Tristan would pat my back absentmindedly, his comforting words slowly fading as the weeks dragged on. Now, looking back, it all seemed grotesquely futile.