Before the accident, I had it all—a great job, a beautiful fiancée, and a promising future. Now looking in the mirror at this hideous face, I just wanted to die. But, not having the courage to do away with myself, I decided to retreat from life as I knew it. 

Seeing a rental ad in the paper for a small cottage deep in the English countryside of a small obscure village, I called to inquire. The owner told me the house was set back off the road by itself, two miles from the quaint village. She also said she employed a young woman from the village to clean and cook as part of the rental fee. 

When I told her of my desire not to see anyone, she explained the woman was pitifully homely and could not acquire any other kind of work. She assured me the woman would come and clean, cook a meal for me, and then leave me alone. Thinking I would stay in my room the short time that she was there each day, I consented. 

I then cut off all ties to friends and family, told no one where I was going, hoping never to be seen again. 

Most of my days were spent in an upstairs bedroom looking out the window and thinking about what my life could have been like, feeling sorry for myself, and reading to pass the time. Each day I’d see the young woman come to the house late afternoon. She always wore a dark tattered shawl that covered her head and face. 

She came every afternoon around three. I could hear her downstairs cleaning and using the cooking utensils. I never ventured out of my room until early evening when I was sure she had gone.

Each evening when I went downstairs the table would be set with fine bone china and candlelight. A delicious meal of savory soups or delectable meat and vegetables dishes would await me. 

I began writing notes of appreciation and sometimes I left wildflowers, which I picked from around the house, in a vase on the table for her. In return she would leave thank you notes expressing her gratitude for the kindness I showed to her. 

In the months that followed, the notes became letters. We began to know each other through our writings. Her name was Laura and she told of being shunned and taunted by the village people all of her life for being so homely. I told her about the accident, my disfigurement and the life that I had left behind before my accident. My only contact to the outside world was this woman. 

I began to relish the daily letter from Laura—depend on them really. She was my lifeline to reality, a reason to exist. Through our correspondence I began to feel a kind of love and compassion for this woman that I had never met. I began to convey that to her in my letters, and as time went by, miraculously, she began to express the same feelings for me. 

I had been at the house for nearly nine months before the encounter occurred. I was looking out my window, watching the falling snowflakes fill in her footprints on the path, when I heard her leave the house. I came downstairs and had just sat down to read the letter Laura had left, when suddenly the door opened and a beautiful young woman walked in. I turned my head, trying to hide my face, but it was too late, she had seen me. 

“I am so sorry, Sir, I forgot my shawl. I don’t blame you for turning away from me. I know I am terribly ugly,” she said, grabbing the shawl and trying to hide her face.

I turned back to look at her. “Ugly? Why would you say that? You are a beautiful woman, Laura.”

“Beautiful?” she said with a puzzled look on her face.

“A handsome man like you is just being kind.”

“Handsome? I am not grotesque to you? You don’t see my disfigurement?”

“No, I see only a handsome, kind man.” 

We stood looking at each other for a moment and then slowly I walked toward her and gently pulled the shawl from her head. We stood still as we looked deeply into each other’s eyes. Then without a word, I took her in my arms and gently kissed her lips. As I held her, we basked in an unexplainable contentment.

Somehow in that moment we knew that the love we had shown each other through our written words and kind deeds had physically transformed us, bringing the inward beauty of our souls to our faces in the confines of that cottage. To the outside world we were still hideous misfits, but to each other we were beautiful. 

As we spent our days and nights together and eventually married, we came to learn the true lesson in life; that love is not blind, it is all encompassing and when you truly love someone, you see only their soul.