At first, I thought to slice off his face and wear it over my own. Our bodies were similar, though he was perhaps a little taller and perhaps a little thiner, but still close enough that she wouldn't notice. Nor would she notice the red seam running from my hair to my ear to my chin. She never looked that closely anyway.
Then, I thought it better to slice off my face and place it over his without his knowledge. Impractical as it seemed, I imagined I would laugh a gurgling, wet laugh from my new red face as her desire to look at him gradually diminished over the weeks. He'd weep through the holes in my old face as he came to understand what it meant to live in her radiant indifference.
In the end, I found the greatest joy in wearing her face over mine.