As I stepped out onto the street, passers-by shot me curious, even pitying glances. Their eyes lingered on my swollen face and my uneven, exposed scalp. Shame threatened to consume me, but I kept moving forward, each step heavier than the last.
I entered a drugstore, avoiding the cashier’s gaze as I purchased a box of masks.
The moment I secured one over my face, hiding the scars and the humiliation, the tears came again, harder this time. They flowed freely, soaking into the fabric of the mask.
I hid in the rental house like a rat in the gutter for three days. I didn’t go out wearing a mask until the day of my mother’s funeral.
As soon as I arrived at the hotel door, I saw the wedding photos of Sally and Stanley. I suppressed the hatred in my heart and turned around and entered the private room next door.
While I wore mourning clothes and listen to the host's eulogy. Separated by a wall, a grand wedding was being held.
I went to the bathroom once, but when I came back, I bumped into Sally. Looking at the mourning clothes on my body, she immediately felt aggrieved and her eyes turned red.