Foto Karma Akabane

Aku dan suamiku sedang roadtrip ke Baloi. Di sana, kami tak sengaja bertemu sepasang kekasih muda. Dalam suasana yang agak mabuk, sebagai seorang istri yang masih mempesona, untuk pertama kalinya aku merasakan kenikmatan bersama empat orang. Sejak saat itu, aku terjerumus ke dalam jurang kenikmatan yang tak bisa kutinggalkan ….

While they slice me apart, I desperately call my brother, Nathan Slade. He finally picks up as my consciousness starts to slip and answers in an annoyed voice, "What now?" "Nathan, help—" I don't get to finish before he cuts me off. "Can't you ever go a day without drama? Gemma's graduation is at the end of the month. Miss it, and I swear I'll kill you!" Then, he hangs up without a second thought. The agonizing pain swallows me whole, and my eyes close for good, tears still trailing down my cheeks. Well, good news, Nathan… You won't have to kill me because I'm already dead.

Aku adalah seorang fotografer khusus foto pribadi. Malam itu, sahabatku sejak masa kuliah memintaku untuk memotret dia dan istrinya dalam sebuah sesi foto pribadi. Awalnya, semuanya terasa normal, sampai dia mengajukan permintaan yang benar-benar aneh. "Wade, bisa nggak kamu penuhi permintaan istriku sekali ini saja?" Kalimat itu membuatku tertegun. Aku tidak tahu apakah dia serius atau hanya bercanda. Namun, sorot matanya menunjukkan bahwa dia bersungguh-sungguh. Cerita ini pun menjadi awal dari sesuatu yang tak terduga. Apakah permintaannya benar-benar sebatas profesionalisme fotografi atau ada maksud lain di baliknya?

Pada hari Rina Januar pulang negeri, Galih Gunawan tidak pulang semalaman. Keesokan harinya, aku melihat unggahan foto di instagram Rina. Itu foto dua tangan yang saling menggenggam dan wajah polos Galih yang sedang tidur. Ketika pulang, Galih melemparkan surat cerai kepadaku dan memintaku untuk menyerahkan posisiku sebagai Nyonya Gunawan. Katanya, "Posisi ini memang seharusnya milik Rina. Sekarang dia sudah pulang, waktunya kamu meminggir!" Tidak apa-apa, toh sisa hidupku tidak lama lagi. Siapa pun yang mau posisi Nyonya Gunawan, ambil saja! Kemudian, aku pun meninggal. Galih menangis di depan makamku dan berjanji tidak akan pernah menggenggam tangan wanita lain lagi!

Di tahun kesepuluh pernikahanku, mantan sahabatku memposting sebuah foto. Putrinya dan putraku masing-masing digendong olehnya dan suamiku. Keempat orang itu berdiri berdekatan dan di bawah foto itu tertulis: "Sudah sepasang 'kan anak-anak kami?" Aku berkomentar untuk foto itu, Pasangan yang sempurna. Detik berikutnya, postingan itu dihapus. Keesokan harinya, suamiku bergegas pulang dan bertanya padaku, "Susah payah aku membuat kondisi Sophie membaik, kenapa kamu malah cari ribut?" Putraku bahkan mendorong dan menuduhku, "Ini semua salahmu! Adikku jadi menangis." Aku mengeluarkan surat cerai dan melemparkannya ke wajah mereka. "Ya, ini salahku! Jadi biar aku yang pergi, semoga kalian berempat jadi keluarga bahagia!"

Di hari ulang tahun pernikahan kami, aku membersihkan rumah dan menemukan sebuah album foto. Ternyata, setiap tahun di hari ini, suamiku selalu mengambil foto pernikahan bersama cinta sejatinya. Dari usia 40 hingga 60 tahun, dari rambut hitam hingga beruban, selama dua puluh tahun dia tidak pernah absen. Di balik setiap foto ada tulisan tangan suamiku: "Cinta abadi selamanya." Jika yang dia cintai bukan aku, aku tidak perlu lagi mencucikan bajunya, memasak untuknya, mengurus anak, hingga merawat cucu. Setengah hidupku telah kujalani dengan sia-sia, tetapi tidak ada kata terlambat untuk berubah sekarang.

My husband's first love had been trapped in a car for an hour. After they pulled her out, his rage shifted onto me. “It’s your fault she got hurt,” he spat, his eyes blazing as he grabbed me. Before I could make sense of what was happening, he forced me into a wooden box, slamming the lid down with a deafening crack. “You’re going to feel every ounce of the pain she went through,” he hissed, nailing it shut. I pounded on the walls, my screams tearing through the air. “Please, I didn’t do anything! Let me out!” My throat burned with the effort, my fists aching, but nothing stopped him. “Stay in there until you’ve figured out how to act like a decent human being,” he said, his voice cold, dripping with contempt. Hours passed. My body twisted unnaturally in the tight space, bones throbbing as blood smeared the wood beneath me. I whispered into the dark, the pain unbearable. "Please… just let me out…" But he didn’t care. A week later, he returned, his laughter echoing with hers as they entered the house, carefree from their trip. He finally opened the box. But by then, I was already gone. The woman he locked away was no longer breathing, no longer pleading. Just a cold, silent corpse.

I was twelve when Henry Shaw took me home from the orphanage, gave me a new name, put me through school, and gave me a good life. Ten years later, his first love returned from abroad. Her name sounded like mine, and her face looked like a mirror image. I quickly realized I had been a stand-in all along. Crushing the diagnosis in my pocket, I decided that I was going to live the rest of my life for myself, even if I did not have much time left.

When the fire broke out, I called my husband, Hector. He didn't answer. Instead, he ran straight into the flames—to save my sister, Emma. They held each other, clinging to life, while I was trapped in the basement, watching my calls go ignored until all hope burned out. Afterward, Emma played innocent, twisting everything. She told him, "Hector, don't blame Sienna. She didn't leave me on purpose... she was just scared." Her lie made me the villain, and everyone bought it. Fueled by hatred, Hector spat, "She's so vicious—why didn't that fire just take her?" Three months later, the police found my body.

My wife, a doctor, treated our daughter like a walking blood bank. When our daughter passed away, she took it even further. She transplanted her corneas into her old flame’s son. Before our daughter’s body was even cold, she was out having dinner with her ex and his son. They were celebrating that the boy could see again. She even went so far as to secretly burn our daughter’s body to get rid of any evidence. By the time I got there, all I saw was my daughter's ashes being swallowed up by the flames. I told her I wanted a divorce. She just sneered, “It’s only a daughter. Are you really going to divorce me over this?” But later, she was down on her knees, begging me not to leave her.