“Yes.”
The letter arrived during Sophie’s first week back in class.
Margaret had written it.
Sophie opened it during lunch.
Dear Sophie.
You once asked me who gave me the scar on my back.
I told you Richard did.
That was true.
But I understand something now.
He made the wound.
I made the scar.
Because scars are what the body creates when it refuses to remain broken.
Sophie stopped reading.
Her eyes filled.
She continued.
For forty years, I hated mine.
Now I think differently.
That scar carried me long enough to find Emily again.
It carried me long enough to see Nathan become honest.
It carried me long enough to meet my granddaughters.
And it carried me long enough to meet you.
So I suppose I owe my stubborn old back an apology.
Sophie laughed through her tears.
At the bottom was one final sentence.
P.S.
