Chapter 1 - UGLY GROWS BACK
The first thing Kerensa did when I opened the front door was run toward me with half her hair missing.
I had not even set down my overnight bag.
I had been in Philadelphia for four days.
Four days of meetings, hotel coffee, conference rooms, and calls home where my four-year-old daughter insisted everything was “fine” because four-year-olds often use one word for an entire universe.
I came home six hours earlier than planned.
The client canceled dinner.
My flight landed ahead of schedule.
I wanted to surprise her.
Instead, the door opened and I heard an electric buzzing sound.
Then crying.
I stepped into the living room.
Kerensa stood beside an upholstered chair.
One hand covered the side of her head.
Long brown hair lay across the hardwood floor.
A wide strip above her left ear had been shaved almost to the scalp.
Meliora stood behind her holding electric clippers.
She was laughing.
“I’ve had plenty of practice grooming my dog.”
Kerensa recoiled from her.
My daughter’s face was bright red from crying.
Then she saw me.
“Daddy!”
She ran.
I dropped my bag.
She hit my chest hard enough that I had to catch myself against the wall.
“Daddy… she wouldn’t stop.”
I knelt immediately.
“What happened?”
She buried her face against my shoulder.
Her little body shook.
I touched the shaved area carefully.
No obvious bleeding.
A faint pink line where the clipper guard had scraped her scalp.
Hair everywhere.
“What happened?”
Meliora sighed.
“Godric, don’t turn this into something dramatic.”
I looked at her.
She still held the clippers.
“What did you do?”
“She needed a haircut.”
“You shaved her head.”
“Half a strip.”
Kerensa whimpered.
I pulled her closer.
“Why was she crying?”
“Because she’s spoiled.”
I stared.
Meliora smiled.
“Relax. Ugly grows back.”
Something inside me broke.
I stood.
Kerensa remained behind my leg.
Meliora took one step toward me.
“You’ve been gone for four days. I have had to deal with—”
My hand moved.
Once.
Open palm.
Hard.
The slap snapped her head sideways.
The clippers dropped from her fingers.
They struck the hardwood and buzzed against the floor.
Meliora lost her footing and crashed onto the rug beside the chair.
Silence.
Kerensa gasped behind me.
The second I saw her face, I knew I had crossed a line.
Meliora had not been attacking Kerensa in that exact moment.
My daughter was safely behind me.
I struck from rage.
That would matter later.
It should.
But I was not thinking like a reasonable man.
I was thinking about hair on the floor.
My daughter covering her head.
Meliora laughing.
Ugly grows back.
I bent.
Picked up the clippers.
Meliora’s eyes widened.
“Godric.”
I crossed toward her.
“Don’t.”
I ran the clippers once across the side of her hair.
One wide strip.
Dark hair dropped onto her shoulder.
Then the rug.
She screamed.
“You psycho! Look what you did!”
I switched the clippers off.
Set them beside the fallen hair.
Then stepped backward and pulled Kerensa behind me.
“Relax.”
Meliora stared at me.
“It grows back.”
Her expression changed.
Not remorse.
Not shame.
Rage.
“You assaulted me.”
“Yes.”
“You shaved my hair.”
“Yes.”
“You are insane.”
“Maybe.”
That was not the right answer.
I knew it even then.
But my attention had already returned to Kerensa.
She pressed her face against my shirt.
I lifted her.
“How long has this been going on?”
Meliora laughed bitterly.
“Going on?”
I looked at her.
“How long have you been hurting her?”
“I didn’t hurt her.”
“You held clippers against a terrified four-year-old while she cried.”
“She refused to sit still.”
Kerensa tightened around my neck.
I felt it.
Fear.
I asked quietly:
“Why was she getting a haircut?”
Meliora’s mouth opened.
Closed.
“Because it was uneven.”
“It wasn’t.”
“How would you know? You’re never here.”
That sentence hit where she intended.
I traveled.
Too much sometimes.
I knew it.
That did not answer my question.
“Why?”
“She got something in it.”
“What?”
“Glue.”
Kerensa immediately lifted her head.
“No.”
Meliora snapped:
“Stop lying.”
Kerensa flinched.
That flinch changed everything.
I turned toward my daughter.
“What happened?”
She looked at Meliora first.
Then me.
“I said I didn’t want to do hair again.”
My pulse changed.
“What does that mean?”
Meliora stood.
“Enough.”
“No.”
“She’s confused.”
“What does ‘do hair again’ mean?”
Kerensa began rubbing my collar between her fingers.
“The light.”
“What light?”
She pointed toward the far side of the room.
I followed.
A tall shelving unit stood beside the piano.
Books.
Decorations.
A framed photograph of Kerensa and her mother.
Nothing unusual.
Then I noticed a small black mount between two decorative boxes.
Empty.
A camera mount.
I looked at Meliora.
“What was there?”
“Security camera.”
“We don’t have a security camera there.”
“Yes, we do.”
“No. Our system is installed above the doors.”
She folded her arms.
“You approved cameras.”
“Not one pointed at the chair.”
Kerensa whispered:
“She says I have to smile when the red light comes.”
I stared at her.
“What red light?”
Meliora moved toward the shelf.
I stepped between her and it.
“Don’t.”
She stopped.
There was a charging cable tucked behind the frame.
No camera attached.
A small circular indentation in the dust showed something had been sitting there recently.
I looked at Meliora.
“Where is it?”
She said nothing.
“Where is the camera?”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
Kerensa’s voice came softly against my shoulder.
“She takes it upstairs when you call.”
The room went cold.
I carried my daughter away from Meliora.
Into the hall.
“Get your coat,” I said.
Meliora followed.
“You cannot take her and disappear after hitting me.”
“I’m taking her to a doctor.”
“For a haircut?”
“For everything I don’t know yet.”
Her face shifted.
Only slightly.
Enough.
I reached the front door.
Behind me she said:
“Godric.”
I stopped.
“If you start accusing me of things you don’t understand, you are going to regret it.”
I turned.
“What don’t I understand?”
She stared at me.
Then glanced toward the empty camera mount.
“Nothing.”
That was the wrong word.
Because by then I knew there was something.
I just did not know how large it was.
I left with Kerensa.
And fifteen minutes later, while I drove toward the pediatric urgent-care clinic, my daughter asked a question that made my hands tighten around the steering wheel.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Are we still doing videos tomorrow?”
I looked at her in the rearview mirror.
“What videos?”
May you like
She went quiet.
And that silence followed us all the way to the hospital.
