PART 2:
Nathan stood as if the air had turned to glass around him.
Emily’s hand froze on the strap of her nightgown. Her face, already pale with nerves, lost the last trace of color.
There were no stretch marks.
No signs of childbirth.
No marks of a woman who had carried three children.
Instead, across Emily’s back, ribs, shoulders, and the side of her waist were scars.
Not small ones. Not old childhood scratches.
Deep, uneven scars.
Some were thin and pale, like lines drawn by a cruel hand. Others were rough and dark, the kind that never truly healed. There was a long burn mark near her shoulder blade, and beneath it, faded bruising that had settled into her skin like a permanent shadow.
Nathan’s breath caught.
Emily quickly pulled the robe back over herself.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Nathan’s eyes snapped to her face. “Sorry?”
She turned away from him. “I knew this would happen.”
“What would happen?”
“You would look at me like that.”
Nathan took one step forward, then stopped, afraid that even movement might frighten her.
“Emily,” he said carefully, “I’m not disgusted.”
She gave a broken little laugh, but there was no humor in it.
