1: The Woman with an Ugly Scar

"It's been ten years, Julian. Grandfather is getting weaker. His only wish is to have a grandson from you before he dies."

"Grandfather always favored you among his grandchildren. He cared for you the most. Didn't you once say that Grandfather meant more to you than your own parents? So why aren't you fulfilling his lifelong wish?"

"Listen to us, Julian. Grandfather chose you to be the heir. His only wish now is to see you with a child before he goes. It's part of your responsibility—to have a child. This would also strengthen your position among the elders."

"Why are you all pressuring Julian? The reason they haven't had a child isn't his fault—it's that woman's! If it were you, could you bear to have children with someone so hideous?"

"If she were my wife, I couldn't even bear to be intimate with her, not even with the lights off."

"It's been ten years, Julian. You've repaid her enough just by being her husband for that long. It's time you two got divorced. Don't pity her. She's lived a life far better than she deserves."

"He's right. Please listen to us. That sick woman is using the scar on her face to shackle you to this marriage!"

Danice cowered behind the wall as she listened. She had heard all of this countless times—both to her face and behind her back.

But... it still hurt. Every time.

She tightened her fists and stepped away.

Julian's relatives had come to visit again—for the nth time. Usually, they said all this in front of her. And they were more violent and aggressive then. But she toughed it out. She endured their scoldings and even their harsh beatings.

This time, it seemed they had finally brought the matter directly to Julian.

Danice walked upstairs to her room. She closed the door, sat on the bed, and stared blankly into the space until the sun set.

The light outside her window gradually dimmed. Her room began to darken.

But like a statue, Danice remained still, thinking about the past ten years.

Suddenly, a light flickered outside her window.

Danice, like a robot, stood up and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling window. It faced the back entrance—where Julian's car came and went.

As she expected, Julian's car was leaving.

Like every other day, she watched numbly as the man drove off. Without a word to her.

It had always been like this—for ten whole years.

She could count on her fingers the number of times they had actually spoken. In those ten years, he had never stayed in the same space with her for more than an hour. They never shared a meal outside of family banquets. And the only physical contact they ever had was on their wedding day—when he took her hand.

He had been estranged from her since the very first day of their marriage. And even after ten years, nothing had changed.

Those people were right.

She was his wife in name only.

And that name... was laughable in front of those who could see clearly.

As Danice stared out the window, she suddenly caught her own reflection in the glass, snapping her out of her thoughts.

The burn scar on the right side of her face had lightened over the past ten years. But the textured, deformed skin remained.

"If it were you, could you bear to have children with that hideous woman?"

"I couldn't even bear to be intimate with her—not even with the lights off."

She had heard those words countless times. And she thought she would get used to them.

This scar—she had never been ashamed of it. Despite the criticism and being hidden away from the public, she wore it as a medal of honor. A reminder of one night's bravery—of how she had saved the life of the man she loved.

But... she had fooled herself for ten years.

"This wasn't a medal of honor... this is a shackle." She let out a bitter laugh, tears forming in her eyes.

Wiping them away, she went to the bedside table, opened the drawer, and pulled out a divorce paper—one of many that Julian's relatives had given her over the years.

There was a pile of them inside. The oldest one dated back to three days after their wedding ten years ago. 

The most recent was from just last week.

"It's enough—enough lying to myself for ten years," Danice muttered. "He can't love you... and he never will. It's always just been pity..." She gripped the divorce paper tightly.

How many times had she held that paper, convincing herself that they still had a future? That, in time, Julian would open up to her... and love her—even just a little?

She had cried many times over it.

But now, she felt nothing. Just numbness.

She had realized it long ago—this was a loveless marriage.

But she'd been delusional, hoping she might one day crack open a small space in his heart.

In the end, she couldn't.

She had become nothing more than a bottle cap, sealing away the family he truly wanted.

Danice picked up a pen and began to fill out the form.

Julian's relatives were truly diligent—everything was prepared. All she had to do was sign.

She placed the signed paper on the bedside table. The knot in her chest and the heaviness on her shoulders... seemed to lift.

Right. This is the right decision.

I've devoted ten years of my life to someone who couldn't even look my way.

It's time to look at myself in the mirror—and love myself.

If no one in this world can love me... then I will.

Danice began packing. It didn't take much.

Her luggage held only the clothes she had brought ten years ago—which still fit her—a pair of sneakers, a few photographs with her grandfather, and an old ring he had given her.

Looking at the single bag, Danice was struck by the realization:

She had lived in this house for ten years... but owned almost nothing in it.

That made it easier to leave.

As she passed the living room, several maids glanced her way—then looked away.

No one greeted her. She didn't greet them either.

She left the mansion like that.

No one asked where she was going, or why she carried a suitcase.

The driver didn't come. The guards didn't help her.

But that was okay.

If they had come and asked... she wouldn't know how to explain.

After all, it had always been rare for her to even speak inside that mansion.

And so, Danice walked away. No one knew where she was going.

No one cared enough to ask why she was leaving.

She even wondered...

Would Julian notice she was gone?

. . .

But Danice's new life didn't last long.

Two months later, she was hit by a truck—and died.