Their trust frayed quietly. Each conversation about the scar ended with his sighs, her sharp retorts, and silence stretching afterward. The house felt heavier, as if even the walls knew they were drifting apart under the weight of unanswered questions. She no longer felt like her fears were hers alone.
When her parents called to check on the baby, she kept her voice distant. She didn’t ask again about her childhood, though the question pulsed on her tongue. Their earlier denials felt too polished, too final. She couldn’t shake the sense that they were hiding more than they admitted.