Days passed, and instead of fading, the scar grew sharper. The skin around it puckered slightly, as if healing from an ancient wound. She ran her fingers along its length, shivering at the realization—it wasn’t disappearing with recovery. It was surfacing, declaring itself with unnerving clarity.
Her husband finally noticed. One evening, while she changed clothes, he paused. “It really is different,” he admitted reluctantly. His tone lacked reassurance this time. Instead, unease flickered across his face. She caught it and felt both vindicated and unsettled. Even he could no longer deny its presence.