Silvia
The hospital visit had gone well, the doctor's words still echoing in my mind: "The healing is remarkable. Better than we expected."
My hand was finally free from its restrictive bandages, though the fresh pink scars across my palm told the painful story of what I'd endured.
Now, sitting inAlpha Sherman's luxury SUV as we headed home, I couldn't stop staring at my hand.
I kept flexing my fingers, watching how the new skin pulled and stretched across my palm.
The scars were an angry pink—ugly and raw, like flesh that had been dipped in acid and then hastily stitched back together.
I opened and closed my palm repeatedly on my lap, transfixed by the way the damaged skin moved.
"Does it hurt?" Alpha Sherman asked, his deep voice breaking the quiet between us.
I
