Chapter 2
Every morning, I performed blindness like an actress born for the role.
I bumped into furniture I could clearly see. I reached for things slightly to the left of where they actually were. I let Kieran guide me by the elbow, his touch making my skin crawl.
"Careful, there's a step," he'd say, and I'd stumble convincingly.
Meanwhile, my vision grew sharper each day. Blurry shapes sharpened into faces, colors, details I wished I couldn't see.
Like the way Serena had redecorated my house.
My paintings—gone. My photos with Kieran—replaced with ones of him and her. My mother's antique vase—shattered and replaced with some modern chrome monstrosity.
She'd erased me from my own home, piece by piece, knowing I'd never see it.
That Wednesday, Mary—my only real friend—came to visit. She held my hand the way she always did, tight and warm.
"How are you holding up?" she whispered.
I squeezed twice. Our secret signal: *I need to talk privately.*
Mary understood immediately. "Kieran, do you mind if I take Ivy for a walk? The doctor said fresh air helps with circulation."
He barely looked up from his phone. "Sure. Don't let her trip."
Once we were far enough from the house, I opened my eyes.
Mary gasped so hard she nearly collapsed. "Ivy—your eyes—you can—"
"Keep your voice down." I pulled her behind a hedge. "I can see. Partially. It might not last."
Her hands flew to her mouth, tears already streaming. "Oh my God. Oh my God, when? How?"
"Two weeks ago. The doctor says my corneas are partially healing on their own—some kind of miracle regeneration. But it could reverse any time, especially with stress."
Mary gripped my arms. "Then you need to leave that house! You can see now, you can—"
"I'm not leaving. Not yet."
"Ivy—"
"That woman. Serena." My voice hardened. "She's the one who threw the acid, Mary."
Mary went still. "What?"
"I saw her hands. The same acid burn scars on her right fingers—from the splash-back. I'd been told the attacker burned her own hand during the throw. And she wears long sleeves constantly, but yesterday her sleeve rode up and I saw it."
"That's—Ivy, we need to go to the police!"
"With what evidence? Scarred fingers? It's been three years. There was no DNA, no camera footage. I need more."
Mary was trembling. "And Kieran? Does he... does he know who she is?"
I laughed—a hollow, broken sound. "That's what I need to find out. Whether he's a fool... or a monster."
Mary walked me back in silence, and I resumed my performance—shuffling feet, wandering hands, empty gaze.
That night, Serena cooked dinner.
I heard her humming in the kitchen, and when Kieran went upstairs to shower, she set a plate in front of me with exaggerated care.
"Here you go, Ivy. I made your favorite—mushroom risotto."
I stared at the plate through half-closed lids. Mixed into the risotto were my pills—the anti-inflammatory medication that the doctor prescribed for my eyes.
Crushed into powder. Dissolved into the food.
But these weren't the right amount. This was triple—no, quadruple the dose. Enough to cause liver damage over time. Enough to ensure my corneas stayed inflamed, my vision forever gone.
She knew.
She knew my eyes were capable of healing, and she was making sure they never would.
My hands shook beneath the table. "Thank you, Serena. It smells wonderful."
"Of course! Anything for you." Her voice was sunshine, but when I cracked my eyes open the tiniest fraction, I saw her watching me—hawk-like, predatory.
Waiting to see me eat.
I lifted the spoon to my lips, pretending to take a bite. "Mm. Delicious."
Serena smiled. "Good girl."
The moment she turned away, I spat it back into my napkin.
She wasn't just stealing my husband. She was making sure I stayed blind—permanently, deliberately, dose by dose.
And Kieran ate the same food without a care in the world.
Which meant either he didn't know what she was doing to me...
Or he did.
I bumped into furniture I could clearly see. I reached for things slightly to the left of where they actually were. I let Kieran guide me by the elbow, his touch making my skin crawl.
"Careful, there's a step," he'd say, and I'd stumble convincingly.
Meanwhile, my vision grew sharper each day. Blurry shapes sharpened into faces, colors, details I wished I couldn't see.
Like the way Serena had redecorated my house.
My paintings—gone. My photos with Kieran—replaced with ones of him and her. My mother's antique vase—shattered and replaced with some modern chrome monstrosity.
She'd erased me from my own home, piece by piece, knowing I'd never see it.
That Wednesday, Mary—my only real friend—came to visit. She held my hand the way she always did, tight and warm.
"How are you holding up?" she whispered.
I squeezed twice. Our secret signal: *I need to talk privately.*
Mary understood immediately. "Kieran, do you mind if I take Ivy for a walk? The doctor said fresh air helps with circulation."
He barely looked up from his phone. "Sure. Don't let her trip."
Once we were far enough from the house, I opened my eyes.
Mary gasped so hard she nearly collapsed. "Ivy—your eyes—you can—"
"Keep your voice down." I pulled her behind a hedge. "I can see. Partially. It might not last."
Her hands flew to her mouth, tears already streaming. "Oh my God. Oh my God, when? How?"
"Two weeks ago. The doctor says my corneas are partially healing on their own—some kind of miracle regeneration. But it could reverse any time, especially with stress."
Mary gripped my arms. "Then you need to leave that house! You can see now, you can—"
"I'm not leaving. Not yet."
"Ivy—"
"That woman. Serena." My voice hardened. "She's the one who threw the acid, Mary."
Mary went still. "What?"
"I saw her hands. The same acid burn scars on her right fingers—from the splash-back. I'd been told the attacker burned her own hand during the throw. And she wears long sleeves constantly, but yesterday her sleeve rode up and I saw it."
"That's—Ivy, we need to go to the police!"
"With what evidence? Scarred fingers? It's been three years. There was no DNA, no camera footage. I need more."
Mary was trembling. "And Kieran? Does he... does he know who she is?"
I laughed—a hollow, broken sound. "That's what I need to find out. Whether he's a fool... or a monster."
Mary walked me back in silence, and I resumed my performance—shuffling feet, wandering hands, empty gaze.
That night, Serena cooked dinner.
I heard her humming in the kitchen, and when Kieran went upstairs to shower, she set a plate in front of me with exaggerated care.
"Here you go, Ivy. I made your favorite—mushroom risotto."
I stared at the plate through half-closed lids. Mixed into the risotto were my pills—the anti-inflammatory medication that the doctor prescribed for my eyes.
Crushed into powder. Dissolved into the food.
But these weren't the right amount. This was triple—no, quadruple the dose. Enough to cause liver damage over time. Enough to ensure my corneas stayed inflamed, my vision forever gone.
She knew.
She knew my eyes were capable of healing, and she was making sure they never would.
My hands shook beneath the table. "Thank you, Serena. It smells wonderful."
"Of course! Anything for you." Her voice was sunshine, but when I cracked my eyes open the tiniest fraction, I saw her watching me—hawk-like, predatory.
Waiting to see me eat.
I lifted the spoon to my lips, pretending to take a bite. "Mm. Delicious."
Serena smiled. "Good girl."
The moment she turned away, I spat it back into my napkin.
She wasn't just stealing my husband. She was making sure I stayed blind—permanently, deliberately, dose by dose.
And Kieran ate the same food without a care in the world.
Which meant either he didn't know what she was doing to me...
Or he did.