I Stopped Fighting for Love, and Love Finally Fought for Me novel Chapter 1

"Congratulations, your vision is fully restored."

Willow Vance stood at the door of her house, the doctor's words still echoing in her ears.

It had been a year.

She could finally see again.

She had sneaked out of the hospital, desperate to rush home and surprise Julian Jenkins.

Her greatest wish in life was to marry him, become his wife, and build a family together.

The moment she pushed the door open, her world stopped.

The joy on her face instantly shattered.

Under the crystal chandelier in the living room, the man who had held her while she was blind and swore to marry her once she recovered was now wrapping his arm around another woman's waist.

The woman had her back to the door, her body pressed flush against Julian.

Their arms were intimately entangled as they sipped from their wine glasses, so close that not even a sliver of air could fit between them.

The provocative scene pierced her fragile eyes, causing a sharp sting as bloodshot veins surfaced, while her heart plummeted with a suffocating wave of despair.

And that silhouette...

She knew it all too well.

A year ago, she had stood outside the courthouse with her documents, full of hope, waiting for Julian.

Instead of him, she was met with this exact woman driving a car like a maniac, crashing straight into her.

In that moment, she didn't just lose her chance at marriage—she lost her sight and her ability to ever hold a sketching pencil again.

When her gaze landed on the two glaring marriage certificates resting on the coffee table, the room spun, and everything went black for a second.

She gripped her white cane tightly, digging the tip into the floor just to keep her trembling body upright.

So.

She had been blinded, suffering in agonizing darkness for a year.

And her fiancé had actually married her attacker?

And they were celebrating in the very home she had meticulously decorated for their own wedding?

Disgusting.

It was absolutely sickening.

Clenching her jaw, she reached a trembling hand into her pocket, fumbling until she pressed the quick-record button on her phone.

Then, taking a deep breath, she tightened her grip on her cane and walked step by step toward that blinding light.

"My house..."

"Why does it smell like a cheap affair in here?"

The two on the sofa whipped around in shock.

At five-foot-seven, Willow had a naturally slender and graceful frame, but prolonged illness and suffering had withered her down to skin and bones; the white sweatsuit hung off her body as if draped over a hanger.