Chapter 1: The Night He Chose Her

At my twenty-fifth birthday dinner, Mason Leighton walked in with a woman on his arm.

The moment they stepped through the door together, the air in the room froze. All the clinking of silverware and soft laughter vanished, like someone had just hit pause on the whole night. The birthday candles flickered, throwing strange, dancing shadows across the tablecloth, and every eye in the place snapped to the doorway, bracing for whatever would come next. Just like that.

Mason and I had been childhood sweethearts for years. I was the girl he kept close to his heart—and the daughter-in-law handpicked by his late mother, Mrs. Leighton. Everyone in our circle knew the story: Mrs. Leighton, all pearls and southern charm, had once squeezed my hand and whispered, "Take care of my boy, honey." It was almost a legend in our small town, passed around like a bedtime story.

“Aren’t you going to introduce her, Mase?” My legs felt shaky, but I stood up. I reached for my white cane and tried to keep my voice steady. I brushed invisible lint from my dress, hoping no one saw how my hand trembled. My fingers curled around the polished handle, grounding me in the swirl of whispers and held breaths.

Mason hesitated, his voice stiff. “Her name’s Natalie Cruz, she’s my…”

He stopped, like he couldn’t decide what to call her—or maybe he just couldn’t get the words out in front of me. I could almost hear the gears grinding in his head, the silence stretching too long, heavy as a summer storm about to break. My heart thudded. Please, just say it and get it over with.

“Oh, I’m Mason’s girlfriend! This is the first time he’s brought me to meet his friends. Hi, everyone!”

Natalie beamed, her voice bright and sweet, the kind that made people instantly warm up to her. She gave a little wave, her bangles jingling. For a second, I could almost see her lips curling up in that perky, infectious way—like she’d just stepped off the set of a Target commercial, all sunshine and smiles.

But after she spoke, it was like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over the room—everyone went silent. The soft jazz in the background suddenly seemed too loud. It echoed off the walls. I could feel the discomfort thickening, the way people shifted in their seats, suddenly not sure where to look.

Someone must have seen my expression and tried to warn her off.

“What kind of joke is that? Who doesn’t know Mason said he’d only ever marry Hannah? You’re just a guest, don’t try to steal what isn’t yours.”

All these years, there’d been plenty of women around Mason, but everyone knew it was just for show. It was an open secret. The kind folks gossiped about over pie at the diner, but never out loud in front of me.

His birth mother died young, and to keep his scheming stepmom at bay, he had to pretend he was living it up with other girls. Classic small-town drama—everyone rooting for the good kid outsmarting the villain. Mason played the part so well, no one doubted where his heart really belonged.

Naturally, everyone figured Natalie was just another temporary companion. Just a passing phase, another pretty face in the endless parade. No one expected her to stick around. Much less make a scene at my birthday dinner.

But then, out of nowhere, Mason snapped.

He grabbed his wine glass and threw the golden wine right in the face of the guy who spoke up. The glass clinked hard against the table, and the wine dripped down the poor guy’s shirt, staining it pale yellow and sticky. Gasps shot around the table.

“Since when is my life your business?”

I couldn’t see, but I could picture Mason’s face in my mind. His sharp jaw set. Those eyes of his, blazing with anger. I remembered the way his brow furrowed when he was upset, the muscle in his cheek twitching as he clenched his jaw.

He was already handsome, but when he was mad, he could be downright intimidating. He always scared me a little when he was like this. The kind of man who could silence a room with a single look, make you shrink just by turning his gaze your way.

The guy clutched his face and stammered, “No way, Mason. Are you serious?”

Before Mason could answer, Natalie’s cheerful voice piped up again. My stomach twisted, bracing for more.

She playfully tapped Mason’s arm. “He was just looking out for you, that’s all. I don’t mind.”

Their flirty banter echoed in my ears, like no one else was there. I felt invisible. Like a ghost at my own party. Bitterness welled up—didn’t anyone notice?

A sharp pain stabbed through my chest. It spread—tiny needles, everywhere. My breath caught. I pressed my lips together. Don’t let them see how much it hurts.

About two years ago, one of Mason’s female friends came to see me, trying to get me to give up my place as his main girl.

She only said one thing: “A blind girl isn’t good enough for Mason.” When Mason found out, he lost it—smashed a wine bottle over her head. There was blood everywhere. The memory still stung: sirens, shouts, the metallic scent of blood that clung long after the glass was swept away.

After that, even the boldest girls around him never dared cross me again. Not after that night. For a while, I was untouchable—Mason’s one and only. But nothing gold ever stays.

But this was the first time Mason had brought someone into our circle and actually gotten angry to defend her.

That stung more than any insult. More than the wine tossed in a stranger’s face. It cut deeper. Sharp.

“Hannah,” my friend beside me hesitated, “this Natalie… she kind of looks like you.”

“Could Mason be treating her as your replacement?”

Even though I couldn’t see, I could feel Natalie’s eyes on me. I could feel her watching me, daring me to say something. Not nearly as sweet as she pretended. It was a challenge, silent but sharp.

My nails dug into my palm, and I let out a quiet snort.

I paused. “I’m blind, not dead. Why would I need a substitute?”

A few months ago, mutual friends of Mason and me had warned me.

“There’s this little actress always hanging around Mason lately. She’s always chattering away, and she kind of looks like you. Hannah, you should keep an eye out.”

Mason always seemed like a flirt. But I knew how much he cared about me. Or at least, I thought I did. Maybe I was just fooling myself.

Back then, I didn’t think much of it. I just smiled and said, “I trust him.” For a second, I really believed it.

Now, reality had smacked me right in the face. Trust is fragile. Tonight, it shattered with just one introduction.

Just as the tension peaked, Natalie pressed a box into my hand, all warmth and smiles. Her perfume was cloying, too sweet.

“You must be Hannah. Happy birthday! This is a gift Mason and I picked out for you together.”

I swept the gift box off the table. The thud as it hit the hardwood echoed, sharp and final. I didn’t flinch. I could feel the weight of everyone’s stares, the judgment, the pity burning into my skin.

Staring into the endless darkness, my voice came out rough.

“Mase, she’s your girlfriend. So what am I?”

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until finally, a familiar voice reached my ears.

“Not just a girlfriend,” Mason said. “I’m going to get engaged to her.”

It felt like the floor dropped out from under me. Like I’d stepped into a snowdrift barefoot. The whole room buzzed with whispers—

“Mason’s lost his mind.”

He’d rather not marry me—a girl he’s known forever—and instead get engaged to some actress no one knows. I could almost hear the scandal forming, people texting under the table, already thinking up their stories for the next brunch.

It felt like someone was squeezing my heart so tight I could barely breathe. My chest ached. My hands shook. I held the edge of the table, forcing myself to stay upright.

“Then what am I?” I repeated softly. The words tasted bitter.

In the dead-silent room, Mason let out a quiet laugh—short, half-guilty, half-pitying. It was almost cruel.

“Hannah, the Leighton family’s daughter-in-law can’t be blind.”

“We’re over.”

For a second, I was stunned. Barely able to stand. My knees buckled, and I had to fight not to collapse in front of them all. Humiliation burned hotter than the wine in my veins.

I opened my mouth and forced out the words. My mind reeled.

“…No one knows better than you how I ended up like this.”

Three years ago, there was a sudden earthquake in the city. Mason and I didn’t evacuate in time and got trapped under the rubble. The world had ended in a roar of breaking concrete and sirens, and nothing had been the same since. Sometimes, late at night, I could still hear the chaos—shouts, the wail of distant ambulances, dust choking the air. Everything changed in those moments.

The wait for rescue was agonizing. When we were dizzy with hunger, the steel beam above Mason’s head suddenly started to give way.

There was no time to think—

I crawled over, using my not-so-broad back as a shield, protecting Mason and taking the brunt of the falling steel. The pain was blinding, a white-hot flash that ripped through my body. I remember the way the world narrowed to pain and the sound of Mason’s voice, screaming my name.

Pain shot through me, and as I was about to lose consciousness, I still remembered to hold him tight. Even then, my first instinct was to keep him safe.

“…Live, Mase.”

When I woke up, I was in the hospital. The smell of antiseptic, the scratchy sheets, the steady beep of machines. My body felt like it belonged to someone else.

They told me my optic nerve was severed. The doctor said surgery was extremely risky, and after every attempt, I was left blind. Each time I woke up, hope faded a little more, replaced by darkness and the steady whir of hospital air vents.

It wasn’t just darkness. It was like falling into a bottomless well—no light, no color, just the endless hush of nothing. My white cane became my anchor. Colors faded into memory. Sometimes I dreamed in color, but every morning I woke up to the same shadowy void.

Mason had once trembled as he kissed my bandaged eyes. He’d been crying, his voice shaky as he promised:

“Hannah, I’ll marry no one but you.”

“From now on, I’ll be your eyes.”

Now, he was the one who couldn’t stand my blindness. For a second, bitterness flared in my chest. How quickly things changed.

“I’ve already done everything I could for you, Hannah. What’s the point of trying to guilt me now?”

Mason’s impatient, low growl snapped me back to the present. It sounded more animal than human, and the room was so quiet, you could hear the ice melting in someone’s glass.

No one else dared breathe. Only Natalie cheerfully rested her hand on his arm, like she was soothing an angry lion.

“My boyfriend’s amazing—it’s normal for his ex to make a scene trying to win him back.”

She sighed, like she really felt bad for me. “Since it’s Hannah’s birthday, just let it go for her sake.”

With just a few words, she’d branded me the ‘crazy ex-girlfriend.’ I felt heat rising in my cheeks, the room shifting around me. Sympathy evaporated, replaced by secondhand embarrassment.

Mason seemed to like that explanation. His expression softened. He leaned back, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Hannah, if you were as considerate as Natalie, things wouldn’t have ended up like this.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Heh…”

A coldness spread from my heart to my fingertips. I paused. I fumbled for my wine glass and gulped down a big mouthful.

The burning liquid slid down my throat, making me cough. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, not caring if I looked undignified.

Everyone in our circle always said Mason Leighton was moody and hard to please. But he only ever loved me. He never said a harsh word.

We’d been childhood sweethearts for over twenty years, sharing every happiness. I remembered our first kiss under the old oak tree, secret notes passed in class, those long summer nights chasing fireflies. Memories that felt like another lifetime.

Whenever I felt lost, he was always there.

I didn’t get it.