PLASTIC SURGERY

"Ava Sharma, why did you end up in jail?"

Since childhood, I've felt the world's unfairness. I grew up without a recognized mother; she died giving birth to me. My father was my only family.

"Dad, the kids won't play with me. Their parents don't want me near because they say I'm a monster. I'm ugly… but I'm not a monster!" I cried, wiping my tears with my arm.

He wiped my tears, smoothing my hair. "Who told you that? Don't they know my daughter is kind, smart, helpful, and lovable? You're beautiful because of your kindness! Stop crying, you're not a monster; they are."

I inherited my looks from my mother. Despite the ridicule, my father was my ally, always telling me I was beautiful. With him, I felt like the most beautiful woman in the world.

But everything changed when another woman entered his life. Stunningly beautiful, tall, slender, with flawless skin. She seemed like an angel, but she was a devil.

She was repulsed by my appearance, forcing my father to move me out. He chose her over his own child.

Who would choose an ugly daughter? I learned the bitterness of the world young. I saw humanity, but not human kindness.

High school brought more oppression. People mistreated me because of how I looked.

I was hurt repeatedly, despite my innocence—at school, on the way home, shopping… I had nowhere to escape. Is it a sin to be ugly?

When my father died, his wife threw me out. I had nothing, not even clothes. But then I discovered I'd inherited all his property—houses, money. Yet my life felt worthless because I was ugly. I wanted to die.

I stood on a bridge, ready to jump, when someone spoke.

"Feeling like garbage? Let me recycle you."

I looked up. A woman in a doctor's uniform and mask.

"W-What do you m-mean?" I asked.

She handed me her card. "I'm a surgeon. If you want plastic surgery, call me. I can make you beautiful."

That surgeon changed my life. I experienced things I'd never dreamed of. She transformed my face, identity, personality. She made me a goddess.

Plastic surgery—I'll never regret it.

This is the life of a beautiful person. Everyone looks up to me, worships me. I'm never alone; people cling to me. No matter my sins, they don't judge. Beauty makes one infallible. I love being beautiful. No one leaves or hurts me.

I became a famous actress. People adore me.

"Ava! I love you!"

"Ava, marry me!"

"Why are you so pretty!"

"Step on me, my Goddess!"

Those are the shouts I hear. Cameras flash; they're obsessed with my face. This is the power of beauty.

"Ava, a question from your fans. You were a doctor; why acting?" The reporter asked, microphone pointed at me.

I smiled. "Why hide my beautiful face in a hospital when I can show it to the world?"

They cheered. Even boasting isn't arrogance when you're beautiful.

But things changed. A man burst into my house, claiming to be my husband.

"How dare you say you don't know me! I did everything for you!" He shouted, pulling my hair.

"F-F*** who are you?! Ahh, it hurts! I don't know you! You're hallucinating! I'm an actress, you're an obsessed fan! Help!" I screamed.

"Shut up!"

My ears rang as he slammed my face into a mirror, then hit me with a gun. He pulled my hair, touching my cheek, forcing me to look at my reflection.

"This face… it broke me. You ruined my life! You think you're beautiful, you can do anything?!"

My reflection in the mirror made me stiffen with rage. My beautiful face was broken!

"My face!" I cried hysterically, touching it.

"I'll destroy your fa—"

I didn't let him finish. I hit him with a vase, knocking him down, along with his gun.

"You ruined my face!" I screamed, grabbing the gun.

"You scarred me, so I'll kill you!" I shouted, firing repeatedly until the gun was empty.

Blood covered the floor; my hand was stained. His face was unrecognizable. But I didn't care about his ugliness.

I looked at my reflection, trembling, touching my wounds. I screamed in anger and sobbed.

"My beautiful face!"

The police asked why I was in jail.

"He ruined my face," I chuckled, pointing to a small scar on my forehead.

"Is your face more important than his life?"

I looked at myself in a small mirror.

"I won't be here long. People are petitioning for my release. They'll forgive me; I'm beautiful," I said.

"Ms. Sharma has a visitor," an officer said.

He left. I looked at my reflection, hearing heels approaching.

I looked up. A beautiful woman smiled, then sat.

"You still have a beautiful face."

My eyes widened. It was the surgeon. Her phone rang.

"Yes, this is Dr. Anya Petrova. Yes, let's meet at The Corner Cafe."

She hung up, looking at me.

"Sorry, I won't be long. I'm sorry I made your face… my face. And thank you for saving me from my abusive husband."

Before leaving, she touched my face, kissing my forehead.

"That face was precious to me. Take care of it, Ava."

After she left, I cried, then laughed.

I REMEMBER…

I'M NOT AVA SHARMA. I'M ANYA PETROVA.

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