That night, holding her baby close, she traced the scar again. It still felt foreign, but now she knew its story. A secret operation, a brush with death, and a second chance she’d been too young to recall, even before she had met her parents. The scar was hers, reclaimed from the shadows.
She kissed her baby’s forehead, whispering, “You’ll know everything. No secrets between us, bub.” For the first time since her C-section, she felt steady. Scars, both old and new, were no longer mysteries to fear, but reminders of survival. The past had surfaced, and at last, it belonged wholly to her.