I altered her nose to match mine. Sharpened her jaw. Softened her eyes. Every mark was deliberate.
For a moment, my hand shook. This was unethical. Criminal.
Then I remembered her words.
“You wanted my life,” I whispered. “So here it is.”
“Scalpel.”
The surgery lasted nine hours. I reshaped bone, grafted cartilage, recreated every flaw Daniel once claimed he loved. I etched age, gravity, and truth into her face.
“She looks older,” a nurse murmured.
“She looks real,” I replied.
When I finished, the resemblance was terrifying.
Two weeks later, Maddison sat upright, buzzing with anticipation.
“Is it perfect?” she asked. “Does it look like her?”
“It’s exactly what you asked for,” I said, reaching for the scissors.
Layer by layer, the bandages fell.
I handed her the mirror.
She smiled—then froze.
Her fingers traced her face. Her mouth opened in a broken sound.
“I look old,” she screamed. “I look exhausted!”
She turned on me. “What did you do?!”
I slowly removed my mask.
Her scream died in her throat.
The door opened.
“Hey, babe—”
Daniel stopped cold. Roses slipped from his hands as he stared at the two identical faces.
“Why… why does she look like you?” he whispered.
“She wanted to replace me,” I said calmly. “I helped.”
“Fix it!” he shouted.
“I can’t,” I replied. “It’s permanent.”
Maddison collapsed, sobbing.
I tossed the signed forms onto the bed. “Everything was authorized. Paid for by you.”
Then I picked up my bag.
“I filed for divorce this morning,” I said. “You can keep her. I hope it’s comforting to wake up next to my face every day.”
I walked into the sunlight and breathed freely for the first time in years.
Months later, I sat at a café in Paris, rain tapping the window. I’d changed everything—my hair, my style, my life.
A man smiled at me from the next table. “You look unforgettable,” he said.
I smiled back. “Thank you. I’m the original.”
In the reflection of my spoon, I saw the woman I used to be—and let her go.
