Chapter 21 - GRACE’S HAIR
Grace grew her hair long again.
Her choice.
At seven, she cut it to her shoulders.
Her choice.
At nine, she wanted bangs.
I panicked internally.
Said:
“Okay.”
The stylist asked Grace directly.
“How short?”
Grace showed.
Scissors opened.
Snip.
Grace smiled.
I realized I had been holding my breath.
She noticed.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“It’s hair.”
“Yes.”
That sentence healed more than any trial.
At eleven, she donated eight inches to a wig charity because a friend did.
No symbolism assigned.
She liked the idea.
I did not tell reporters.
May you like
There were no reporters anymore.
Good.
