“Then don’t say it in front of her.”
He fell silent.
The pediatrician turned to me.
“I recommend that you and your daughter leave together today. I’ll document everything we’ve discussed and make the appropriate report.”
My husband stared at her.
“You’re actually doing this.”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“If you walk out with her, don’t expect me to just forgive this.”
I picked up my daughter’s backpack.
“I don’t need forgiveness for protecting my child.”
His expression hardened.
“You’re destroying our family.”
I looked at my daughter.
She was watching me.
Waiting.
I crouched beside her.
“We’re going.”
She nodded.
As we walked toward the door, my husband said something behind us.
“Wait.”
I stopped.
Not because I wanted to.
Because I knew that whatever came next might matter.
He spoke quietly.
“I didn’t know she was going to cut her hair.”
