I BRUSHED MY DAUGHTER’S WAIST-LENGTH HAIR ON SUNDAY—BY MONDAY EVENING, IT WAS GONE
The night before, I had been sitting behind my twelve-year-old daughter, gently brushing through her waist-length chestnut hair as I did every Sunday.
By five o’clock the following afternoon, almost all of it had disappeared. Emily came through the door in tears.
Her grandmother knew exactly what had happened.
And neither one of them would explain why.
Sunday evenings in our home had always followed the same familiar routine.
The living room lamp filled the room with a warm glow as a quiet television show played somewhere in the background.
Emily sat cross-legged on the carpet between my knees while I slowly worked my brush through her thick brown hair.
Strangers would stop us in grocery stores just to compliment it.
It reached well past her waist, and Emily adored it.
“Never cutting it, Mom,” she announced that evening.
