Chapter 3 - Dulcie
I did not speak to Dulcie for nine days.
That was intentional.
She was a child.
She had just accused her own mother of deliberate harm.
She did not need Aunt Ainsley calling for details.
CPS interviewed her.
A child therapist became involved.
Ramona cooperated after her lawyer advised.
No removal.
No emergency foster placement.
Dulcie had a safe home environment otherwise.
Food.
School.
Medical care.
No allegation Ramona physically assaulted her.
The concerns were emotional pressure and commercial exploitation.
Different.
Then Benedict received a call from Dulcie’s father.
I had met Evan Marks perhaps six times.
He and Ramona divorced when Dulcie was four.
Dulcie used Whitlock socially because Ramona had reverted to her maiden name and they had informally used it for activities, though her legal surname remained Marks-Whitlock. Fine.
Evan lived forty minutes away.
Shared custody:
Every other weekend plus one weekday dinner, because his job involved travel.
Not absent.
Not central until now.
He said:
“I didn’t know about the modeling.”
Neither did we.
He had seen professional pictures.
Ramona told him they were birthday portraits.
Then:
“She’s been taking Dulcie to auditions?”
“Apparently.”
“How many?”
He estimated four.
All local.
Commercial catalog.
No pageant circuit.
No entertainment empire.
Dulcie had enjoyed the first photos.
Then less.
Evan said:
“She started saying she was tired of being ‘camera ready.’ I thought she meant school pictures.”
That phrase chilled me.
Then:
“Did Ramona diet her?”
“No.”
Important.
No food restriction.
“Makeup?”
Light styling by professionals.
No adult sexualization.
The harm was not that child modeling existed.
It was coercion and comparison.
Then Evan said:
“Dulcie keeps asking whether Nell hates her.”
I closed eyes.
“Nell doesn’t.”
“Can you tell Dulcie?”
“Not directly yet.”
“Right.”
He understood.
Therapists arranged later.
Then Benedict.
His guilt took a different form.
“I knew Ramona cared about appearances.”
Everyone did.
“She entered beauty things as a teenager.”
Not relevant.
Then:
“She always compared herself to me.”
That was interesting.
“How?”
“I was Dad’s favorite.”
“Was that true?”
He hesitated.
“Probably.”
Their father, Leonard Whitlock, died nine years earlier.
Successful dentist.
Traditional.
Benedict played baseball.
Ramona did dance.
He praised Benedict’s grades.
Criticized Ramona’s weight? Benedict said sometimes.
Not extreme.
Enough.
“She always thought people chose me.”
Then Ramona had Dulcie.
Benedict had Nell two years later.
Family comments began:
Nell looks like Leonard.
Nell has Whitlock eyes.
Nell got Grandma Joan’s hair.
Dulcie looked more like Evan.
Had relatives unintentionally created another ranking?
Yes.
I had participated.
At Christmas, I once said:
“Nell got the Whitlock hair.”
Dulcie heard.
I meant texture.
Nothing more.
Still.
Then Benedict said:
“Ramona used to joke that Nell stole the family face.”
I remembered.
I had laughed.
Jokes reveal systems before people admit systems exist.
May you like
That did not make us responsible for scissors.
It did mean the field had not been empty.
