The red one featured tiny pencil straps, and without the jacket, the scar would be plainly visible. “I'll leave that one,” I announced, beginning to replace clothes on hangers, ready to return to the racks.
Channing stepped forward, her expressive brown eyes serious. “Finn, nobody is going to worry about the scar,” she suggested gently.
“I worry about the scar.”
“Why? It's just a scar, Finn. Lots of people have them.”
I met her eyes, a tremble quivering through my body. “It's in the shape of a heart, right above my left breast,” I explained quietly. “If I leave it uncovered, everyone will know what happened to me – everyone will recognize it and know I was a victim of the Chicago Ripper. I can't do it, Channing, I just can't.”
Channing leaned against the wall of the change room. “Finn
