Alone at night, she pressed her palm against the scar and whispered, “Where did you come from?” Linda was neither vain nor paranoid. She was certain something had happened to her that she couldn’t remember. And this something, though erased from paper, was carved into her flesh all the same.
The more she searched, the deeper her unease grew. Why was everyone so quick to brush it off? Why did her files erase any possibility of an earlier operation? The silence around it felt orchestrated, a wall built to keep her from a truth she wasn’t meant to uncover.