She flicked her long silky brown hair to the side and smiled lovingly at them. I finally had the chance to see what they meant by the scars from “the accident”. A long, deep purple slash ran down from her left eye to the end of her smile; a smile that would have otherwise been flawless and beautiful. Something squeezed my heart inside. There was the infamous scratch above her left eyebrow. A scratch they called it. They were two black curved lines that mimicked the shape of her eyebrow. Pity filled my insides as my eyes fell to her neck. The burns never healed completely… Just as the doctors suspected.
Her green eyes caught my shameless stare. Hastily, she patted her hair back into place. Only the right side of her face and neck soaked the warm morning sun. I wanted to say something; greet… apologise… sympathise. Instead I turned toward the object of which her loving smiles were directed. Her husband; tall, lean and bespectacled. He effortlessly strapped their 2-year-old into the car seat.
I’ve come to realise that divine reasoning is behind every event. Had “the accident” not have happened, how would she have met her husband – the first paramedic on scene?
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