Identical to the one in the poster's profile picture.
If I remembered correctly, he'd gotten that scar three months ago.
I'd just finished a prenatal checkup, and Brad was walking me out of the hospital. An unleashed German shepherd came snarling out of nowhere, lunging straight at me.
Brad hadn't hesitated. He'd thrown himself in front of me and fought the dog off with his bare hands.
In the end, the animal had torn a chunk of flesh from the web of his hand.
Blood everywhere. Seventeen stitches.
I'd cried so hard I couldn't stop wiping my eyes, but Brad just smiled and tried to comfort me:
"Don't cry. As long as you and the baby are safe, a scar is nothing. I'd have given up the whole hand and it still would've been worth it."
That scar, once a symbol of his love, now stung like a needle pressed against my chest.
I reached out and traced the scar between Brad's thumb and forefinger.
"Does this still hurt?"
He blinked, caught off guard, then curled his hand closed.
"That stopped hurting a long time ago. Why are you suddenly asking?"
I lowered my gaze and said softly, "I just started thinking about the old days."
"You were so good to me and the baby back then."