Her husband tried again to anchor her fears. “Maybe the doctor’s wrong. Maybe it’s something else—stretch marks, adhesions. Bodies heal strangely.” He kissed her forehead before moving to the sleeping baby, but she felt his detachment. He wanted her to stop asking, to stop circling the question that now consumed her every waking hour.
But she couldn’t. Every glance in the mirror, every tug of pain beneath the skin, reminded her of the secret no one would acknowledge. The second doctor’s words echoed: Someone operated on you. The conviction in his voice had lodged itself inside her, impossible to shake free.