The Littlest Guru

Just before 5, I opened my eyes to see Greg, sitting at the end of the bed putting his shoes on. And I began to cry.

He turned around to face me. “What’s wrong?” he said.

“It stopped hurting.” I answered softly.

“Stopped hurting?”

“My incision.” I lifted my nightgown to reveal my scar, still darkened by pooled, clotted blood beneath the surface.