My Husband Died on Our Wedding Day… But Seven Days After His Funeral, I Heard His Voice on a Bus
Part 3: The Second Scar
I stood up, intending to move away from him.
But the man reached out and caught my wrist.
“Please, sit down.”
I pulled my arm back.
Then I noticed another mark on his hand.
A pale burn scar near the base of his fingers.
Márk had one in exactly the same place.
I remembered how he had burned himself while repairing an old coffee machine in our first apartment. He had laughed about it afterward, saying that at least the machine had finally started working.
My breathing became uneven.
“Take off your cap,” I said.
The stranger shook his head.
“You’re mistaken.”
“Take it off!”
I reached toward him and pulled the cap away.
His hair was shorter than I remembered, and there were a few new lines around his eyes. But when he turned his head, I saw the old scar near his temple.
He had received it as a child after falling from a walnut tree.
I had seen photographs of that injury. I had heard his mother tell the story during family gatherings.
