I traced the raised tissue with my fingertips, and for the very first time in my life, I felt no urge whatsoever to hide them.

They weren’t a brand of shame.

They weren’t proof that I’d been broken by my family’s sins.

They were irrefutable proof that I had walked straight through the fire, come back alive, and forced the very monsters who mocked my wounds to kneel before the absolute truth.

THE END.