About who you are.”

I did not answer her.

I was looking at her hand, at the manicure she was so proud of, and at something small on the side of her thumb that she had not thought to hide, because she did not know I would be looking for it.

A burn.

A small, crescent-shaped burn, healing, the kind you get from the edge of a curling iron or a hot pan.

I had seen that exact burn two days earlier.