I was awake before the alarm went off at 6:30 a.m. My body has been automatically remembering this time for years; it has a silent internal clock that is set to the beats of duty. Slipping out of bed, I made my way to the kitchen in silence. I mentally arranged my plan as I turned on the coffee machine, which makes a familiar gurgling that is a reassuring way to start the day. I have three new clients this afternoon, a staff meeting this evening, and a facial for my usual client, Mrs. Thompson, this morning.
I’ve had Serenity Spa open for five years. It began as a modest two-room salon and has since expanded into a posh spa with seven employees. It’s rewarding, and I’m proud of it. But occasionally, during calm times like these, I ask myself, “Am I missing something?”
I
Without
However, I am not raising my daughter by myself. I have Rachel, my sister.
Rachel is a graphic designer who works from home. Sophia is close in age to her two children, Ethan, who is eleven, and Olivia, who is nine. Rachel said to me, “Leave it to me,” as soon as Michael departed for his task. After school, Sophia is welcome to hang around at our house. She’d rather be with her cousins than at home by herself, wouldn’t she? It has been really beneficial. I have total faith in her.
At first, Sophia seemed a little unsure, but she seemed to pick things up quickly. Every day, Rachel sends me messages with pictures of the three of them having snacks, smiling, and working on homework together. However, I’ve been bothered by something lately.
Sophia has constantly been wearing headbands or hats. She puts a pink headband on her head as soon as she wakes up. It remains on when she gets home from school. She waits until just before taking a bath to remove it.
Why have you been wearing headbands so much lately? I asked once.
After giving it some thought, Sophia replied, “I don’t like my hair.”
She angrily shook her head when I attempted to take her to a salon. She would simply respond, “I just don’t want to,” when I questioned why she didn’t want to go.
She also seems to have nightmares, which is why she has been weeping more at night. Sophia was shaking beneath the blankets when I hurried into her room in a panic. “Mama,” she calls in a voice that seems to be coming from a great distance. I told Rachel about it.
She had added breezily, “Girls this age are like that.” “I recall Olivia suddenly being interested in fashion when she was around the same age. Isn’t it an indication of maturity?”
Perhaps. It might be the start of puberty. Girls are sensitive even at age eight. Dreaming and worrying about their hair. These things do occur. I couldn’t quite place the tiny splinter of dread that kept bugging me, though.
Michael called on Thursday evening. When I finally heard him say, “I can come home this weekend,” it made me happy. Three weeks had passed.
I remarked, “Sophia will be so happy.” However, my daughter’s expression was complex when I told Sophia. She appeared content, yet perplexed in some way.
“Are you not eager to see Daddy? Sophia gave me a small nod when I asked. That was all. I didn’t give it much thought. She must simply be anxious because it has been so long. I eagerly anticipated spending a weekend with the three of us together on Friday night.
A little after seven o’clock on Friday night, Michael returned home. His warmth was so familiar when we hugged.
Sophia, this is Daddy’s house!”
Little footsteps came from the living room. With her typical pink headband still on, Sophia hesitantly emerged into the hallway. She raised her gaze to my spouse.
Michael knelt to look her in the eyes and said, “Sophia, it’s Daddy,” but Sophia didn’t move an inch. Her eyes seemed to be gazing off into space as she simply stood there.
“You’ve grown so much,” Michael remarked. Sophia gave a small nod. That was all.
I made roast chicken for dinner, but the discussion was awkward. Sophia simply said, “Yeah,” or “I guess so,” even when Michael mentioned a job or I brought up school.
Later, Michael said, “Perhaps she’s exhausted.”
I replied, “Yes, she had school events this week,” even if it wasn’t entirely accurate. Sophia wasn’t simply worn out. There was a change.
A call from the salon woke me up on Saturday morning. I had to come in immediately after one of my employees became ill. “I apologize, but I must go in until this afternoon.”
“It’s okay,” Michael said. He looked at Sophia’s hair at the breakfast table and remarked, “Sophia, your hair has gotten long.” “I’ll spend some time alone with Sophia for a change.” Do you want Daddy to cut it?
Sophia’s face stiffened for a moment, but then it relaxed, and she gave a small nod. Sophia’s hair was always cut by Michael. It was a good fit for his delicate architectural design approach. Daddy used to love cutting Sophia’s hair.
The salon job took longer than anticipated. I had a slight worry in my chest and was restless for some reason as I hurried home. I never imagined it would come to pass. A little after three o’clock, I arrived home. Michael and Sophia were in the living room when I walked in. Sophia was seated on a newspaper that had been spread out on the floor. Michael held scissors as he stood behind our daughter.
They both turned to face me and said, “I’m home.” Sophia’s face was rigid, while Michael’s was serene.
“Welcome back. I just got done cutting,” Michael said in a regular voice. I thought they had a good time together and that he had trimmed her hair. Michael seemed preoccupied as he softly rubbed our daughter’s hair. His hands abruptly stopped.
“Wait.” My husband’s tone shifted to one of confusion. “Your hair is thinning here.”
Sophia’s hair was being softly parted by him. Her scalp was visible to me. There was what appeared to be a tiny, ancient scar. Did you just fall, Sophia?”
Sophia remained silent. She simply answered, “I don’t remember,” in a quiet voice.
With the meticulous attention to detail of an architect, Michael began inspecting other areas, lifting the hair and closely studying the scalp. “Come look at this, Emily.”
I also looked. Her scalp did indeed have thinning patches. Children, however, are active. They stumble into each other. Something caught in my chest as I was speaking. I examine hair and scalps on a daily basis as a beauty professional. I didn’t want to acknowledge that this wasn’t a typical injury. Child care services
Michael went on, preparing to trim the back of her hair. Just before inserting the scissors, he parted the hair gently once more, and his hand came to a complete halt. There was a long pause. He remained still. He slowly raised more of our daughter’s hair with shaking hands. And once more. And once more. He lost the color in his face.
My husband’s voice was trembling as he said, “Emily.” “Please stay here for a moment.”
I could tell by his tone. This was a severe matter.
I hurried over. I was about to look when he stopped me. “Sophia, Daddy and Mommy need some alone time to talk. “Would you mind going to your room?”
With her little back climbing the stairs, Sophia got to her feet.
“What took place?”
Michael gripped my hand cautiously before pointing to the hair that was still on the ground. “Take a look at this.”
A number of hairs that appeared to have been yanked out from the roots were scattered among the clipped hair on the floor.
“And this,” Michael said, pulling out his phone. The screen displayed a picture. My world came to a halt when I realized what was within. It was Sophia’s scalp: several old scars, discoloration like bruises, and signs of hair thinning and pulling. Not one or two locations. Her scalp was covered with them.
“You took the picture when?”
“Just now,” he said in a quiet, steady voice that was trembling. As I was trimming her hair, I observed. This isn’t from tripping or colliding with something.
Have you questioned Sophia?”
I inquired, but she remained silent. Michael covered his face and slid into a chair. “Just shakes her head.” I initially believed it to be a single location. However, I discovered fresh wounds each time I separated her hair. There are both new and old ones mingled together.
My mind went blank. At school, is she being harassed? Teachers would be able to tell if it were school.
Additionally, Michael added, “This is done repeatedly, purposefully avoiding the same spots, picking places where hair would hide.”
As a professional in the beauty industry, I knew what that meant. This was no coincidence. Someone had purposefully chosen areas where my daughter’s hair would hide in order to harm her.
That’s what I said: Rachel’s house. Sophia spends the most time there. With the same distrust in his eyes, Michael gazed at me.
Rachel, however, is your sister. Her own niece.
“I’m not sure, but we should ask Sophia.”
We made our way upstairs. We inhaled deeply before knocking on Sophia’s bedroom door and carefully opening it. Sophia was sitting on the bed with her knees up, holding her stuffed rabbit. She jerked when she saw us.
I perched on the side of the bed and said, “Sophia.” On the other side was Michael. “Daddy and Mommy are not upset. Could you explain what transpired?”
Sophia remained silent. She gave the plush animal a closer hug.
The wounds on your skull. Was there an incident at school? She gave a headshake.
“Are you enjoying your time at Aunt Rachel’s house?” Michael said softly. “
Sophia’s body became stiff. That response helped us to understand.
“How about Olivia and Ethan? Are they treating you well?”
Quiet. A long, long hush. A solitary tear then escaped Sophia’s eye. With her shoulders quivering a little, she cried quietly without making any noise.
“Please tell Mommy, Sophia.” I attempted to give her a hug, but she remained rigid.
Michael got up, walked out of the room, and returned immediately with a handful of the hair that had been ripped out. “Look at this, Sophia. This hair was left untrimmed. They took it out. Your hair was pulled by whom? “
Sophia shut her eyes.
My voice trembled as I said, “Mommy and Daddy want to protect you, but we can’t if you don’t tell us what happened.” Do you feel afraid? Have you heard anything frightening?”
Sophia’s mouth moved a little. She finally murmured, “I’m sorry,” in a quiet voice.
“For what purpose?”
“For keeping Mommy in the dark.”
“What prevented you from telling me?”
Sophia’s face lifted, smeared with tears. “Because,” she said abruptly. “Because Daddy lives far away and Mommy works so hard every day.” I assumed Mommy would be upset if I spoke.
My chest constricted. Concerned for her mother, an eight-year-old girl had been concealing her own suffering.
“And they said it would get worse if I told,” Sophia added.
“Who? Who made that statement?
Rather than responding, Sophia began to scream once more, this time vocally, as though suppressed feelings suddenly erupted. I gave my daughter a hug. She cried uncontrollably this time, pressing her tiny body against my chest.
“Now everything is OK. Daddy and Mommy are present. I swear, no one will ever harm you again.” Michael gave us both a hug.
I have no idea how much time has gone by. Sophia’s sobbing eventually subsided. “Take your time. Tell us everything.
Sophia’s eyes were red and puffy as she cautiously lifted her face. My body froze. “At first, they just pulled my hair a little.”
“Who?”
“Olivia and Ethan.” Michael’s arm stiffened.
Sophia’s voice was halting and broken as she added, “They said it was playing, but it got harder over time.” My head was smacked on the floor and pressed against the wall.
My vision became blurry. All of a sudden, I felt angry, unhappy, and angry at myself.
Sophia remarked, “Olivia said it was okay because hair hides the head.” That was stated by a nine-year-old child. consciously.
How about Aunt Rachel? Was she observing? “
Sophia gave a nod. My world fell apart when my daughter said, “She was watching.” “They were not stopped by her.”
Rachel did nothing to stop the mistreatment of Sophia that she had witnessed. A stranger’s visage was replacing the one of Rachel that I believed I knew.
“Since when?” Michael inquired softly.
“Ever since Daddy left.”
The words spilled out like a busted dam as soon as she began. Ethan gave my hair a slight tug. He stated he was sorry when I mentioned it hurt. I therefore assumed they were joking. The following day, they pulled it off once more, with greater force. Olivia as well. Both of them were giggling. They claimed it was enjoyable.
How was it possible for an eight-year-old to distinguish between play and aggression?
It progressively deteriorated. I put my head down on the ground. Light at first, but harder over time. Ethan banged my head on the wall one day. I cried because it hurt so much.
At that time, where was Aunt Rachel?”
Sophia shrank herself. “She was there, in the living room, watching.” However, she just stated, “It’s alright. It’s playing. This is something that everyone does.
I could hear my sister speaking in a soft voice, saying horrible things.
Nine-year-old Olivia knew how to conceal evidence, saying, “The head is good because hair hides it, so Mommy won’t find out.” That was taught to her by whom?
“We’ll do worse things if you tell,” Ethan said. His cousin, who was eight years old, was being threatened by an eleven-year-old.
My heart nearly stopped when Olivia remarked, “Your mommy and daddy will get divorced.” That word was used by a child who was nine years old.
“Mommy is busy with work,” she said. Sophia glanced up at me and said, “I truly believed that it would be sad to worry her more.” Daddy is far away, and Mommy is exhausted every day. The family would remain content if I simply put up with it.
I thought my chest would explode. My daughter was attempting to keep me safe.
“Sophia, that is incorrect. “You never had to go through anything.” Michael caressed our daughter’s wounded scalp tenderly. “Did it not hurt? Don’t you think you were afraid? I apologize for not noticing.
Was there anything more Aunt Rachel said? “
Sophia gave a nod. “This is our secret,” she remarked. It’s unique. “You are to blame for your weakness,” she remarked. You must strengthen yourself.
The secret. unique. Manipulation words. placing the sufferer at fault. My daughter has been being made to feel guilty by my sister.
Michael got up and grabbed his phone. Could you please show me your head again, Sophia? Allow me to snap pictures.” Our daughter gave a nod. To preserve evidence, Michael meticulously took multiple photographs of each injury from various angles.
Olivia and Ethan took this action. Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
Was Aunt Rachel observing?”
“Yes, at all times.”
I walked out of the room. I was sick to my stomach. Michael emerged. We’re heading to Rachel’s, Emily. At this moment.
“I’ll be there too.”
We reached Rachel’s residence. The doorbell was pressed by me. The door opened. My sister smiled as she stood there. “What’s up, Sis? I realized this individual wasn’t my sister after seeing that smile.
We went into the living room. Olivia and Ethan were present. Their faces tensed at the sight of us. Michael pulled out his phone and showed the pictures to Rachel. Do you realize this?”
After a moment of twisting, Rachel’s countenance changed to one of amazement. “Huh? What is this? Sophia, what happened to her?”
“Don’t act foolish. Sophia told us everything,” I said in a chilly, hushed voice. Sophia was being abused by your kids. You were also observing.
“Mistreatment? It’s a huge exaggeration. Isn’t it just children having fun?”
“Are you playing? Michael moved to the front. “Have you seen the scalp of your niece? There are several wounds, bruises, and hair strands. Is this playing?”
Rachel’s voice rose, “But my kids didn’t do anything wrong.” In addition, I was looking after her for you because you were busy, right? And you speak to me like this? “
Michael stated quietly, “This is abuse.” “We are informing the police and Child Protective Services about this.”
Rachel’s face shifted from astonishment to fear and finally to rage. “Police? Aren’t you kidding me? Over a small child’s altercation? “
“No conflict. systematic mistreatment.
Rachel’s voice became a shriek. “You’ll destroy my children’s lives if you do that!”
What about the life of Sophia?” I said. “What about the psychological wounds my kid has? My sister was you. Why?”
Abruptly, Rachel dashed into the kitchen. She returned with a knife after hearing the sound of drawers being opened. “You’ve always been…” Rachel said, her eyes displaying a deranged expression. “Perfect at all times. Always joyful. How about me? I’ve been second all my life. I felt terrible just looking at it. “So, just a bit,” Rachel cried, “I merely utilized her to help my kids deal with their stress! She hurled the blade towards Michael.
Michael ducked. The knife trembled as it pressed into the wall. Rachel broke down, sat on the ground, and began sobbing. “I also wanted to be loved.”
I was unable to speak. Michael dialed the police right away. Rachel was immediately taken into custody for assault. All I could do was observe my sister being loaded into the patrol car.
Child Protective Services showed up. They questioned Olivia and Ethan. They initially denied it, but after seeing pictures, a doctor’s diagnosis, and videotaped testimony, they came clean. It became evident after a counselor stepped in that the children were also victims of their mother’s distorted upbringing.
Rachel’s long-standing jealousy came to light throughout the trial. The jury was uncaring. Contact with children was forbidden, and a two-year prison sentence with probation was imposed. With counseling, Ethan and Olivia, who were adopted by their father, are progressively transforming.
Sophia began seeing a specialist therapist for counseling. The dreams persisted over the first few months, but eventually her grin reappeared. Michael decided to put his family first and resigned his single mission. I also reduced the salon’s hours of operation. I kept saying that I didn’t notice, but Sophia and Michael encouraged me.
It’s not your fault, Mommy.
After a year, Sophia’s hair was healthy again. She grins more, which is the best part. She is happy to declare, “No more secrets,” and she has made pals.
On the weekend, the three of us were enjoying a picnic at the park. Sophia’s hair was blowing in the breeze as she ran around on the grass without a cap or headband.
Michael gripped my hand and said, “Emily.” “We made it through.”
I gave a nod. This time, the tears that threatened to spill over weren’t sad ones. Blood isn’t a factor in true family, is it?
Rachel sent a letter that evening asking if we could start afresh. I was also family. I had never responded in writing. Today, however, was different. I wrote a final letter that said, “I will stop hating you, but I cannot forgive you.” I hope that you will find happiness from a distance. Rachel, goodbye.
I closed the envelope. We’re making progress. All three of us.
Sophia was reading a book in the living room when I came back. She looked up and grinned as I walked up to her. Will you cut my hair tomorrow, Mommy?”
“Obviously. Which look are you looking for? “
“I want it brief. I want to change who I am.
I gave my daughter a hug. That’s fantastic. A new you. The sun was sinking outside the window. A hard day comes to a close, and a fresh day begins tomorrow. Our fresh days.
