“Thank you for telling me,” I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper. I reached out, tracing a gentle finger along the line of one scar, feeling its texture beneath my touch. “I’m sorry you went through that. But I’m so grateful you’re here with me now.”

She smiled softly, a genuine expression that reached her eyes and melted the tension in the room. “I was worried it might change how you see me,” she admitted. “But I see now that it’s part of what makes me who I am, and you need to see all of me.”