I never told my husband’s mistress that I was the renowned plastic surgeon she booked a consultation with. She didn’t recognize me in my mask and scrubs. She pointed to a photo of me on her phone and said, “I want to look better than this hag my boyfriend is married to. Make me younger so he finally dumps her.” I simply smiled behind my mask and nodded. The surgery was a masterpiece. She believed she was waking up with a face that would make me weep with envy. But when the final bandage was peeled away, her face went pale. She screamed in horror, dropping the mirror to the floor. I hadn’t made her younger. I had used my scalpel to carve her into an exact, permanent replica of…

Nine hours disappeared.

I broke her nose.
Reset it with the same asymmetry Thomas used to kiss.

I filed her chin.
Harvested cartilage.
Rebuilt the tip with my signature droop.

I reshaped her eyes — not to brighten them, but to age them.
Weight instead of youth.

One nurse whispered, “You’re aging her.”

“I’m giving her presence,” I replied.
“Presence has a cost.”

Hundreds of microscopic sutures closed the skin.

It wasn’t surgery.

It was replication.

By the end, I didn’t see a stranger.

I saw myself.

“Bandage her,” I ordered.
“No mirrors. No visitors. I handle recovery.”

When I left the OR, I felt powerful.

And empty.

Chapter 4: The Reveal

Two weeks later.

The swelling faded.
The bruises softened.

Lila vibrated with excitement.

“Is it perfect?” she asked.
“Does he love it?”

I cut away the bandages.
Layer by layer.

Then I handed her the mirror.

She smiled.

Then froze.

Her hand flew to her face.

A broken sound tore from her throat.

The mirror shattered.

“What did you do?” she screamed.
“I look old. I look exhausted!”

She spun toward me.

I removed my mask.
Then my cap.

My hair fell free.

The same face stared back at her.

“You look like his wife,” I said softly.

The door opened.

“Babe?”

Thomas walked in with roses.

He stopped.

He stared at me.
Then at her.

The flowers fell.

Chapter 5: Reflections