“I did.”
“Are you going to get fired?”
“Maybe.”
Her face fell.
I immediately reached for her hand.
“But that’s my problem. Not yours.”
She looked at me cautiously.
“Your next rehearsal is Thursday, right?”
Her eyebrows rose.
“You know?”
“I do now.”
“And you’re actually coming?”
I squeezed her hand.
“I’ll get there before you do.”
Emily smiled.
That night, I finally understood what I had spent years refusing to acknowledge.
My daughter hadn’t stopped needing me just because someone else was willing to show up.
Linda had never taken my place.
She had simply filled it whenever I left it empty.
And Emily’s haircut wasn’t a tragedy.
It was proof of the kind of person she had become—someone willing to give up something precious so her friend wouldn’t have to stand alone.
The real shock wasn’t learning why her hair was gone.
