My daughter kept her eyes on the floor.
I could see the edge of the blanket slipping from her head. A small patch of her scalp showed beneath it.
She immediately pulled the blanket back into place.
Something inside me broke again.
I had spent years watching her take pride in her hair.
Every morning, she’d stand on the little stool in front of the bathroom mirror while I worked through the tangles. She liked braids. She liked colorful clips. She liked putting her hair into ridiculous ponytails that somehow stuck straight up from the top of her head.
She had once told me that when she grew up, she wanted hair “all the way down to my knees.”
And now she was afraid to let anyone see her.
The pediatrician slid the reporting forms into a folder.
“I need to explain something,” she said.
My husband immediately became defensive.
