There was not another scar like it in the world.

And the man I knew as Sebastian had never had any such injury.

I knew his history; I had learned it over three years of quiet dinners and fixed sinks.

His one significant scar was on his left wrist, where a plate held together a bone he had broken playing high school football, a plate that should have ached in cold weather for the rest of his life.

He had never cut his hip.