Then she closed the door.
The next afternoon, I came home from work around four.
Linda had already arrived to collect Emily for the six o’clock concert.
I watched them leave from upstairs.
Emily wore a knitted beanie despite the heat, shoulders hunched as though she wanted to disappear.
Then I noticed her purple backpack beside the front door.
I picked it up, intending to drive it to the school.
Instead, I noticed a crumpled piece of paper inside.
I unfolded it.
One sentence was written across the page.
“Let’s see if you’ll still think it’s funny without your hair.”
My entire body went cold.
I read it again.
And again.
Someone had threatened my daughter.
Was that why she cut her hair?
Had someone humiliated her?
Had Linda known?
My phone buzzed.
Melissa.
