I reached for the top button of my silk blouse.

“Maya, what are you doing?” my mother sobbed from behind me.

I didn’t answer.

I unbuttoned the first button, then the second, then the third.

I slipped the silk fabric off my shoulders and let it drop to the stone floor.

I stood there in my simple black tank top.

For ten years, I had worn long sleeves, high collars, and thick scarves, even in the dead of summer.

For ten years, I had hidden the thick, purple-and-white keloid scars that covered my left shoulder, my upper arm, and ran down the side of my ribcage.

Now, under the bright LED lights of the patio, they were completely exposed.

The guests gasped.

Some of them looked away, embarrassed or horrified.

But I didn’t care.

I looked at my reflection in the pool water.

The scars were ugly, yes, but they were also proof that I was still here.

I looked at Chloe one last time.

She was looking at my arm, her eyes filled with a deep, sorrowful understanding.

She didn’t look disgusted. She just looked sad.