He Loves Her Through My Eyes

I stand outside the door for a long time.

Victor says something, but the ringing in my ears is too loud. I don’t hear a word.

When my legs finally move again, I turn and walk away.

Close to midnight, a message from him appears on my phone.

Family business came up. Go to sleep without me.

It isn’t like him at all.

Whenever he’s away from home, he calls me before I go to bed. Never later than ten.

Victor knows I hate waiting. He knows I’m terrified of him suddenly disappearing without a word. So every time in the past, he has told me exactly where he is going and when he will be back.

But this time, he tells me nothing.

I don’t turn on the bedroom lights.

I sit on the edge of the bed, gripping a photograph so tightly my fingertips ache. My face is pale as paper.

The photograph shows a sky full of stars.

Under a deep blue night, the Milky Way stretches across the horizon. Countless stars scatter through the darkness like diamonds spilled across black velvet.

Five years ago, when I opened my eyes after the corneal transplant and saw clearly for the first time, this photograph was sitting beside my hospital bed.

Elena, the doctor who performed my surgery, was the Moretti family’s private physician.

Later, she became my closest friend.

She told me the photograph had been sent by my donor’s fiancé.

They had almost gotten married.

I still remember the look on Elena’s face when she told me.

Regretful.

“That man really loved her,” she had said softly. “It’s such a shame.”

Such a shame.

I repeat those words in my head until my throat feels like it’s packed with ice.

My hands shake so badly that I can barely hold my phone.

I open Victor’s social media profile.

His profile picture is a sky full of stars.

The same deep blue night.

The same silver-white Milky Way.

Identical to the photograph in my hands.

My profile picture, meanwhile, is one of our favorite wedding photos.

The photographer had asked us to look at the camera together.

But Victor suddenly reached out and cupped my face.

Then he lowered his head and stared into my eyes as if he were searching for something precious he had lost and somehow found again.

I laughed and tried to pull away.

He didn’t let go.

“Don’t move,” he murmured. “Let me look at you a little longer.”

Even the photographer couldn’t help smiling.

“That’s perfect.”

“Mr. Moretti looks like he really loves you.”

Once, that moment had kept me awake for half the night.

Now it feels like a rusty knife slowly twisting in my chest.

I sit there with my eyes open until dawn.

Then I finally call Elena.

The second she answers, her voice tightens.

“Ivy? What’s wrong? Are your eyes hurting again?”

“The second transplant can’t be delayed any longer. Does Victor know?”

My vision has never been completely stable since the corneal transplant.

For five years, Victor has watched over everything.

He reminds me to take my medication. He makes sure I never miss a checkup. He even asks how much I open the curtains.

Back then, I thought he loved me to the point of obsession.

Once, I wrapped my arms around him and teased,

“Are you really that scared I won’t be able to see you?”

Something in his expression changed.

Victor’s face darkened instantly.

He pulled my hands away from him.

“I won’t let anything happen to your eyes.”

At the time, I thought it was love.

Now I understand.

He wasn’t worried about me.

He was worried about these eyes.

Two weeks ago, my body began showing signs of severe rejection.

I didn’t tell Victor.

I didn’t want him to worry.

My nails dig into my palm so hard that it hurts.

When I finally speak, my voice shakes beyond recognition.

“What was the relationship between my cornea donor and Victor?”

The line goes silent.

A few seconds pass before Elena asks carefully,

“You know?”

I close my eyes.

Elena had been the lead surgeon on my operation.

She is the only person who could possibly know where my corneas came from.

“Why would Victor suddenly mention Selena to you?”

My grip tightens around the phone.

My eyes burn, and even the lights in front of me begin to blur.

So these eyes once belonged to a woman named Selena.

When I say nothing, Elena’s voice softens.

“Don’t think too much about it. Even if she was his former fiancée, you and Victor have been married for five years.”

“We’ve all seen how he takes care of you. He loves you.”

She’s right.

Even if his reasons for getting close to me hadn’t been pure in the beginning...

Five years had passed.

Surely, somewhere along the way, some of it had become real.

After hanging up, I rush out without even grabbing a coat.

Maybe Elena’s words have comforted me.

Or maybe I just want to give myself one last chance to believe him.

I go to a tattoo studio I’ve had saved for years.

Below my collarbone, I get a black rose tattooed onto my skin—the symbol of the Moretti family.

When I get home, I ignore the sharp, burning pain spreading beneath my skin and make a full dinner of Victor’s favorite dishes.

Then I wait for him.

The lock clicks.

I immediately smile.

“Victor, you’re—”

My voice cuts off.

He isn’t alone.

Victor takes the young woman’s coat from her and hangs it up before he finally looks at me.

The next second, his pupils constrict.

When he speaks, his voice is cold and heavy.

“You got a tattoo?”