She tried to laugh it off during the day, but the scar was always there, pressing against her clothes, whispering from beneath the healing layers. It was like having a secret written on her body, one she couldn’t remember agreeing to, and no one else seemed willing to acknowledge.
Her thoughts turned darker. What if something had gone wrong in surgery? What if they had cut her twice, and now they were covering it up? She remembered the doctor’s pale expression, the stammer in his voice. It didn’t seem like just medical detachment. It was fear.