Shattered Face, Unending Revenge

My ten-year-old brother was dying from a bee sting, his breath catching in his throat. I was terrified, but relief washed over me when the ambulance arrived. Help was here.

But the paramedic wasn't looking at my brother. She was staring at the watch on my wrist, a gift from my fiancé, Graham. When I told her his name, her professional mask shattered.

"Graham is my man," she snarled. She was his psychotic ex-girlfriend.

She kicked her medical bag shut and let my brother die on the grass, calling him a "bastard." Then she and her brother beat me unconscious.

I woke up strapped to an operating table. With a scalpel in her hand, she whispered, "After I'm done, do you think he'll still want to look at this face?"

She carved up my face and then, with chilling satisfaction, destroyed my ability to ever have children, ensuring I could never give Graham the family she believed was hers alone.

She took everything from me-my brother, my face, my future-all because of a delusion.

When Graham finally burst in, he didn't recognize the bloody mess on the table until he saw a tiny scar by my eye. The man I loved vanished, replaced by something cold and merciless. He looked at me, then at her, and I knew the law would never be enough. Our revenge would be absolute.