My hands moved to the buttons of my navy jacket.
Melissa’s smile faded slightly.
Victor’s did not.
Not yet.
I stood.
“Your Honor,” I said, “may I approach the witness area?”
Judge Monroe studied me.
“Yes.”
I stepped into the open space beside our table.
Then I removed my jacket.
Underneath, I wore a sleeveless black blouse.
A murmur moved through the courtroom.
Because now they could see it.
The scar started high near my right shoulder, curved around my upper arm, and disappeared toward my elbow.
Pale in some places.
Redder in others.
Uneven.
Shiny.
Ugly.
A permanent river of damaged skin left by burning oil and steam.
Victor stopped smiling.
I turned slightly.
Then I lifted the side of my blouse just enough to reveal the second scar along my ribs.
This one was thinner.
Surgical.
Nearly twelve inches long.
Melissa uncrossed her legs.
Gerald Pike sat straighter.
