Her hair was gone.
Not physically shaved off.
But the beautiful thick dark hair she’d always loved had turned a pale, damaged silver-white from root to tip. It looked dry, brittle, and lifeless.
For a second, I genuinely couldn’t breathe.
“Mom,” she whispered through tears, “please don’t be mad.”
I dropped to my knees beside her instantly.
“Oh, sweetheart… what happened?”
She started shaking harder.
“Grandma said I shouldn’t tell you,” she whispered. “She said you’d get angry and never let me see her again.”
A terrible feeling spread through my chest.
“What did she do?”
Letty clutched the blanket tighter around herself.
“She kept saying my hair looked messy and dull,” she said between sobs. “She said I’d look prettier if I changed it.”
I felt sick.
“I told her I didn’t want to,” Letty continued. “But she kept saying I was being difficult and ungrateful.”
“Did she put something in your hair?”
A tiny nod.
“It burned, Mom.”
That sentence nearly broke me.
I wrapped my arms around her carefully while rage burned through every inch of my body.
An hour later, I was driving to Gloria’s house with my hands shaking so badly I could barely grip the steering wheel.
The front door wasn’t locked.
The second I stepped inside, I saw the evidence everywhere.
Hair dye bottles littered the coffee table.
Bleach-stained towels lay in a pile near the bathroom.
Mixing bowls, brushes, and chemical containers sat abandoned like the scene of a disaster.
Gloria appeared in the hallway wearing a robe.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
I held up one of the dye bottles.
“What did you do to my daughter?”
Her expression hardened defensively.
“I was trying to help her.”
“Help her?”
“She needed improvement,” Gloria replied coldly. “Her hair was too dark and heavy. I wanted to soften her appearance.”
I stared at her in disbelief.
“She’s fifteen.”
“It’s only hair,” Gloria snapped. “You’re overreacting.”
I stormed into the bathroom and yanked open the trash bin.
Inside were more chemical containers, including bleach products strong enough to destroy healthy adult hair—let alone a teenager’s.
“You did this without my permission?”
Gloria folded her arms.
“She agreed to it.”
“She’s a child!”
“She wanted to look prettier.”
“No,” I said furiously. “You wanted her to look different.”
For the first time, Gloria looked uncertain.
“I took her to a salon afterward,” she muttered defensively. “The stylist said the damage was already done.”
I closed my eyes briefly, trying to control my anger.
“You sent my daughter home terrified to show her own mother her face.”
“I just needed time to fix it.”
“No,” I said quietly. “You needed control.”
Then I called Harry.
The moment he heard what happened, the silence on the other end of the line became heavy.
Finally, he asked his mother, “Tell me she’s lying.”
Gloria immediately tried defending herself again.
“I only wanted her to look more polished.”
Harry’s voice turned sharp with disbelief.
“She’s fifteen years old, Mom.”
I looked directly at Gloria.
“You are not seeing her again for a very long time.”
Her face crumpled instantly.
“Please, Eva—”
“No.”
Then I walked out.
When I got home, Letty was curled up on the couch crying quietly into her sleeve.
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