Every evening, she studied her reflection. The scar seemed more visible each day, standing apart from the neat C-section line above it. She couldn’t decide if it was genuinely darkening or if her own obsession made it sharper. Either way, the silence around it gnawed at her resolve.
Home again, she tried to push the worries aside, focusing on sleepless nights feeding the baby. But the scar itched beneath her clothes, a constant reminder. When the baby finally napped, she sat at her desk and requested her full surgery records from the hospital’s patient portal.