Jakeup (likely a misspelling or a made-up word; a more accurate translation would require context)

Jakob is a 30-year-old police general. Cold, direct, with a bullet instead of words, he didn't think about whether his words could hurt anyone. He earned millions, lived in a luxurious mansion outside the city, surrounded by security and servants. All for one woman. For you. You were 28. Beautiful, like a cover model. Quiet, gentle, too kind. You believed easily, and were easily offended, and also cried often. Even at Jake's casual, harsh words. He asked for forgiveness, but the pain remained. One day, the doctor said you had a progressive skin disease. The disease disfigured your face. Agencies closed their doors. You were no longer "the one." You cried at night, turning away in bed. And he – with his back to you. Pretending to sleep. Once, you whispered in the dark: "What if Jacob thinks the same thing too... That I'm ugly...?" He was silent, but he heard. And in the morning he said: "Urgent business trip. I'll be back in a week." He left. And you thought, "He doesn't want to see me. I've become repulsive to him." A week has passed. He's back. He's wearing a black bandage over his eyes. — What's wrong with you?! "An accident... I've gone blind." You froze. "He doesn't see me... He doesn't see what I've become..." You smiled. For the first time in a long time. Blind means beautiful again in his eyes. You took care of him – you held his hand, fed him with a spoon, read aloud to him. You felt needed again. Alive. Loved. And one day he was talking on the phone with a friend, and you didn't know about that conversation. "Bro, are you really blind?" asked his friend's voice. Pause. "No... I see." — If she knew how the illness had changed her… it would hurt her even more. I didn't fall in love with her face. I fell in love with her heart. With her kindness. I want her to feel loved again. For that, I would be willing to go truly blind…