June
I held the plastic bottle in my hand as Nurse Caroline examined the contents.
She didn't even try to hide the horror in her eyes.
"Well, it's confirmed." She sat across from us, voice clipped. "These drugs have been damaging your retina—slowly. And the second one is paralyzing your leg nerves."
My heart slammed against my ribs. "Is there a cure?" I muttered. "Can I get my sight and legs back?"
"Luckily, yes." Caroline slid two new prescription bottles toward me. "But you need consistency. And these—" she tapped the bottle I brought "—shouldn't exist. They aren't on the market yet."
Sarah snorted. "She got them from a roadside pharmacist." Apparently she doesn't want people to know my condition.
Caroline didn't even blink. "That wasn't a pharmacist. This drug—Luxyline-Z—is experimental. It's used in neuro-compliance research. In basic English? It rewires a person's sensory nerves so they become dependent on whoever administers it."
My blood ran cold. My hands trembled for a moment.
Caroline softened her tone. "The tablets I gave you will counteract some of the nerve damage. If your body responds, you'll regain vision within weeks and in time, you'll walk again with good physiotherapy."
I stared at the new prescription bottle. My hands trembled, shaking hard enough to rattle the plastic.
I straightened slowly, letting my arms fall to my sides.
The memories. The laughs. The touches. They were all lies.
I fell in love with a fucking shadow who destroyed me piece by piece.
For what?
Tears slipped down my cheeks before I noticed. I wiped them away with the back of my hand.
I didn't deserve this.
But I would not stay broken.
I grabbed my cane and leaned into Sarah for support. I gave Caroline a nod and left.
Maybe I can't control what happened to me.
But I will control what happens now.
I'm going to teach my husband a fucking lesson.
"How are you going to find your husband if you haven't even seen him?" Sarah asked as we left the clinic.
"I wasn't born blind," I snapped, sipping my tea to calm my shaking hands. "It started after I went to a café. A day later, my vision blurred."
"And after that you took meds from Dr. Henry," Sarah added. "Then you met Mark."
"Is his name even Mark?" I laughed bitterly. "Because everything else about him was fake."
"You said you know his… physique."
"He has an upward curve in his dick," I muttered.
Sarah choked on her drink. "That's not exactly a unique identifier. What's your plan—sleep with every man until you find the curve?"
"That's something I'll figure out," I muttered.
Days passed.
Still nothing. I still hold on to the belief that this was all a lie and it was a prank… something, anything.
Sarah's contact, Kimberly, tried running his name through multiple databases.
He didn't exist. And it crashes down to one thing.
He vanished… like smoke.
Kimberly tossed a folder onto the table. "There is a way to find him." I glanced at her then the paper.
I slipped on my corrective contact lenses. My vision sharpened—still blurry around the edges, but the world was no longer a smear of color.
Inside the folder was a document — and a photograph of me. I read its contents carefully.
"You want to train me?" I asked. "I don't understand."
"Yes." Kimberly crossed her arms. "Your husband is either with the Mafia… or not real at all."
"I'm not lying," I hissed. "He hasn't hurt anyone."
"Stop defending him," Kimberly said sharply. "He drugged you until you were blind. That's not love."
I looked down at the picture in my hands — the soft wrinkles behind the thick-rimmed glasses, the small smile, the arm around my waist.
For the first time in my life, someone had made me feel chosen.
But he also broke me.
"I want revenge," I whispered. "But I want answers too."
Kimberly nodded once. "Then listen. Our organization needs someone to infiltrate a Mafia sector."
"You want me to be a spy." Not a question.
"We suspect your husband is part of them."
She lowered her voice. "The day before he disappeared, Don Russo — head of the Italian Mafia — was found with a bullet between his eyes."
I froze. "But there was an old lady beside us that had a dog."
"The landlord said strangers bought out the floors below your apartment. After that, every neighbor vanished. No old lady. No dog. No one." Kimberly stepped closer. "June, you were the bait."
A bitter taste filled my mouth.
"I'll do it," I said. "But I get my revenge."
"Deal. First—recover your eyesight. Strengthen your legs. We'll keep in touch."
When she left, I stared at my reflection in the dark window.
Who am I without him?
I walked into the bathroom.
Opened the cabinet.
Pulled out the box of dye.
Bright red spilled through my fingers as I coated each strand.
Layer by layer, the blonde washed away.
When I lifted my head, I didn't recognize the woman staring back.
Sharper.
Colder.
Alive.
A memory flooded my mind—unwelcome and sharp.
"You have serious bruises on your knees," Dr. Henry once said, frowning at seven-year-old me. "You should talk to someone instead of inflicting pain on yourself."
"I'm training," I spat. "I want to be immune to pain."
He looked at me like I was fragile glass.
How ironic.
He would grow up to poison me too.
I gripped the sink, knuckles white.
Everyone I trusted either used me, abandoned me, or experimented on me.
Not anymore.
I stared into my own burning red reflection.
"I'm coming for you," I whispered.
"And when I find you…
you'll wish I stayed blind."