For the past few days, Ruby had been stuck in her room, recovering.
Luckily, her father wasn't hurt in the explosion. He had been far from where most of the bombs went off.
But Ruby wasn't so lucky. The first blast had gone off right in front of her. If it weren't for the toughness she had built up over the years, she might've died—either from the fire or from hitting her head against the wall.
Most of her burns had faded, but one scar still ran down her neck. It was harsh, and it looked ugly.
Her mother couldn't stop crying—not just because Ruby had nearly died, but because her once-unmarked daughter now carried a scar.
But Ruby didn't care about that. Her looks were never something she cared much for. All that mattered to her was having a clear mind and two working hands.
She never thought much about marriage or dating. If someone was ever going to love her, they'd have to accept her without her family name—and with the scar she now bore.
