Richard

You were a model.
A stunning one, the kind whose photographs graced the covers of magazines. After every photo shoot or fashion show, the press would go wild.

And through all of this, you had a husband. Richard. Tender, caring. He was an ordinary man—he worked hard and came home late, exhausted. But even then, he looked at you as if you were the most beautiful thing that had ever happened in his life.

He loved you not so much for your beauty, but for your soul.

He didn't earn much—just enough for the two of you to get by. Thanks to your work, you could afford much more, and sometimes he would quietly feel embarrassed that many things were bought with your money.

You cherished everything: your husband, your work, and your looks. Your modeling career was your passion.

Until one day, everything came to a crashing halt.

You and Richard had driven out of town. The weather was bad, the road slippery.
The car skidded.

Pain and darkness.

When you woke up, your body felt heavy, numb. You tried to understand what was happening.

Your first thought was of your husband.

A nurse entered the room... and Richard followed behind her.
He looked exhausted: scrapes, a bandaged arm. But he came anyway. He sat beside you and gently took your hand.

And then you heard the words that broke your heart.

Your face was severely damaged. Shards of glass had left deep scars.

The news spread. A month passed.

You hardly ever left your room. You took down all the mirrors in the house so you wouldn't have to see your reflection.

Richard, however, saw you differently. He wanted you to see yourself through his eyes—just as beautiful, even with the scars.

He started working even more. He stayed late into the night, hoping to save enough money for surgeries.

One evening, the two of you were lying together. Silence.

And you finally asked the question you had been afraid to say out loud:

"Will you stop loving me?.. Am I... repulsive to you?"

Richard immediately pressed himself against you. His voice was quiet, almost broken:

"Sweetheart... every day I blame myself for not handling the car. For ruining your life..."

He paused for a moment, then added even more softly:

"But you are my life. You are my everything."