The Scar Hasn’t Scabbed Over

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While scrolling through parenting forums online, I stumbled upon a thread.

Whats the most immoral thing youve ever done?

One highly-rated answer was pinned to the top.

Does stealing my university professors husband count?

My professor sponsored my education, brought me out of a forgotten town in the mountains, and let me live in her home.

But I fell for her fianc the first moment I saw him. So I drugged her and made sure she ended up in bed with his father.

Later, I framed her for poisoning my mother-in-law.

My husband grew to hate her completely. He not only destroyed her career but personally handed her over to human traffickers.

And me? I stayed by my husbands side for five years, under the guise of atoning for my professors sins. The clouds finally parted for me. Now, our child is already in preschool.

The comment section exploded. People were stunned, demanding to know if it was real.

The authors reply was dripping with smug satisfaction.

Of course, its real. I still have the photo of her being dragged away by the traffickers.

By now, shes probably popped out ten kids in some backwater hellhole, left to rot for the rest of her life.

I stared at the familiar photo, my own terrified face from five years ago staring back at me.

...

My thumb moved on its own, scrolling through the replies. The comment section was a flood of outrage.

Youre a monster. To do that to someone and then brag about it here?

Someone tagged her directly.

Dont you feel any guilt for destroying the life of such a brilliant young woman?

Sophies reply was swift.

Guilt? This world is survival of the fittest. She couldnt outsmart me. Thats her bad luck. She should have just accepted her fate!

Youre all just bitter because you cant have what I have.

She provocatively posted photos of her jewelry, her sprawling villa, and the elite private school her child attended.

See? This life I have? I fought for it myself. Why should I feel guilty?

Even if my son finds out one day, hell only be grateful that I made sure he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

My hand clenched, my nails digging deep into my palm.

If it werent for me, she would have dropped out of school, sold off by her parents for a dowry.

For years, Ive been haunted by the regret of saving such a viper.

And now, she dismissed all the damage shed done, all the pain shed inflicted, with a casual, flippant, bad luck.

Hidden behind the anonymity of the forum, she sneered at the criticism, firing back at every comment.

But she underestimated the internet.

Using the photos of her villa and the IP address on her profile, users quickly identified her husband: Marcus Blackwood, the citys celebrated tech prodigy.

His social media was instantly flooded.

Mr. Blackwood, is it true your ex-fiance was sold to human traffickers?

If you knew she was innocent, would you bring her back?

Seeing this, Sophie finally panicked, scrambling to delete her posts.

Staring at the storm they had once again stirred up in my life, I felt nothing.

Only a phantom pain, throbbing where my right leg used to be.

My eyes fell to the sleek prosthesis beneath my skirt, and my mind was dragged back five years.

The day my life was irrevocably shattered.

I was caught red-handed by Marcus, naked in bed with his own father.

When I awoke from a drugged stupor, the first thing I saw was Marcuss face, contorted with rage.

To make matters worse, my most trusted student, Sophie, found a bottle of aphrodisiacs in my room.

The evidence was damning. My fate was sealed.

Evelyn! Marcuss eyes were bloodshot as he choked me, his voice a raw wound. Are you that desperate? Thats my father!

How could you be so shameless?

I clawed at his arm, pleading, trying to explain. It wasnt me, I didnt do it.

Sophie immediately knelt before him, her voice choked with tears as she begged on my behalf. Marcus, please, let Professor Reed go. She made a mistake, but she truly loves you.

Her words were gasoline on the fire.

Ignoring my nakedness, Marcus dragged me to the door. Get out! he roared. Dont you ever let me see your face again, you whore!

I pounded on the door, desperate to explain, but no one opened it.

I remember how the bone-deep cold of that night seeped into me as I sat on his doorstep, waiting, until a raging fever consumed me and I passed out. I woke up in a hospital bed.

Marcus was there, a ragged beard shadowing his jaw. His voice was a rasp. Evelyn, you win.

If you promise to never cheat again, we can go back to how things were.

I opened my mouth to explain, but he smashed a glass of water against the wall. The evidence is right in front of me! Are you still trying to play me for a fool? he screamed. Ive already forgiven you! What more do you want?

I had no defense. All I could do was weep, repeating my innocence to a man who refused to hear it.

After that day, our relationship seemed to return to normal on the surface.

But I knew it was a lie.

He was no longer the man who put me first. He was there, but an unbridgeable chasm now lay between us. There was no more intimacy. Every accidental touch would make him flinch before he quickly, casually pulled away.

I used to be a regular guest for dinner at his parents home. They had always treated me with warmth. Now, his mother would slap me the moment she saw me, screaming that I was a slut, pulling my hair and trying to throw me out of the house.

The old Marcus would never have let me suffer such humiliation.

But the new Marcus just watched, a flicker of pity in his eyes, as his mother assaulted me.

When I begged him for help, his face would cloud with irritation. My mother is losing her mind over this! You owe her this! Whats wrong with letting her vent?

I wanted to go to the police, but the mere mention of it sent him into a rage. I worked my ass off to bury this story, and you want to broadcast to the world that Marcus Blackwood got cheated on? By his own fiance and his own father? You might not have any shame left, but I do!

And just like that, the incident became an open, festering wound between us.

An alarm on my phone jolted me from the memory.

It was time to pick up my daughter from school.

The thought of Lily sent a wave of warmth through me. Before her, my world was gray. I often thought of ending it all. She was the one who pulled me back, who gave me a reason to stay.

While waiting at the school gate, I glanced at the forum thread again.

Sophie had deleted all her comments and her account. But it was too late. Screenshots of everything shed said were plastered all over the comments.

The publics curiosity about the pitiful ex-fiance had exploded. Soon, they had uncovered my identity.

A scholar from a poor background who, through sheer brilliance, had become a celebrated professor at a prestigious university. But they also dug up the old scandal: the accusation that I had driven a student to a suicide attempt, the official reprimand, and my eventual dismissal.

The comments section was a chaotic mix of sympathy and condemnation, a distorted echo of the public shaming I had endured five years ago.

I once thought that being framed in bed with my future father-in-law was the lowest point of my life.

But that was just the beginning. The events that followed pushed me, step by step, toward the abyss.

Our wedding date was approaching. Marcus texted, asking me to come over to discuss the final arrangements. I was filled with a fragile hope, thinking his family was finally ready to accept me again.

But when I pushed open his bedroom door, I found Sophie straddling him.

She turned, a triumphant smirk on her face. Marcus, darling, she cooed, are you going to call off the wedding with the professor?

Marcuss reply was lazy, indifferent. I cant even stand to touch her anymore, let alone marry her

His words caught in his throat as he saw me standing in the doorway. My fists clenched, my nails biting into my palms as I forced myself to stay calm.

One was the man I had loved for years, my fianc. The man who had once rushed into a burning building to save me.

The other was the student I had cherished most. The girl I had sponsored since high school, the one I had treated like a little sister.

The two people I trusted most in the world, in bed together.

A double betrayal. It was more than I could bear.

I lunged forward, swinging my purse at them. But before it could connect with Sophie, Marcus kicked me away.

Are you insane?

The force of the blow sent me sprawling. My head hit the sharp corner of a dresser, and a warm gush of blood streamed down my face.

Marcus didnt even look at me.

He was too busy wrapping Sophie tightly in the bedsheets, holding her protectively as he roared at me.

Evelyn, what the hell are you doing barging in here? Have you no decency?

There was no guilt on his face, only the raw anger of being interrupted.

A cold dread washed over me. Youre in bed together, and youre asking me about decency? I screamed.

He finally saw the blood covering my face. A flicker of concern crossed his features. Your head

Sophie immediately seized the moment, her eyes welling with tears as she slid into her familiar kneeling position before me. Professor, Im so sorry. Please dont blame Marcus. It was my fault. I couldnt control myself.

Dont worry, Im not trying to break you up. I dont need a title. I just want to be near him.

She wept with the convincing sorrow of a martyr, as if I were the villain tearing them apart. Every word was an apology, and every syllable was a knife.

Rage consumed me. I raised my hand to slap her.

But the slap landed on Marcuss face.

He had moved in front of her, taking the blow. A red handprint bloomed on his cheek. His face was a thundercloud.