My daughter nodded.
Then, almost inaudibly, she said, “Can I go to school?”
My husband blinked.
“School?”
She nodded.
I looked at her.
“You want to go?”
Another nod.
The pediatrician asked, “Why?”
My daughter hesitated.
Then she whispered, “Because nobody there makes me take the blanket off.”
My heart sank.
I hadn’t realized she had already figured out how to hide.
The pediatrician asked me to step into the hallway with her for a moment.
My husband stayed in the room with our daughter.
I immediately turned around.
“I don’t want them alone.”
The pediatrician understood.
“Then we’ll have someone stay with him.”
A nurse entered the room.
Only then did I follow the doctor into the hallway.
She closed the door behind us.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she said, “There are things I’m concerned about beyond the haircut.”
My throat went dry.
