“You wanted her hair, her room, her clothes, and even her grief frozen exactly where they were,” I said softly. “Because that’s where you wanted William to stay.”
Patty’s face twisted with pain. “You have everything, Allie. What did I get?”
I looked at William’s photo, then back at her.
“You got grief,” I said quietly. “So did I. But I didn’t hand mine to a child to carry.”
Ms. Bishop closed the folder.
“I’ll recommend supervised visitation only, mandatory grief counseling, no trust oversight, and no discussions with Olivia regarding William returning, inheritance, or custody.”
Outside the building, Patty stood near the curb.
“Allie,” she called.
I stopped walking, but I didn’t go back.
“I miss him,” she whispered.
“I know,” I replied. “So do I.”
“I never meant to hurt Olivia,” Patty said quietly. “I just wanted part of my son.”
I looked back at her, exhausted all the way down to my bones.
“But you did hurt her.”
A month later, Olivia mentioned Clara while I brushed her hair before preschool. The comb snagged on a knot, and she winced.
“Can Clara cut only the tangly parts?”
I set the brush down gently. “Only if you want her to.”
“I want it not to hurt anymore.”
So we returned to the salon.
Clara crouched beside the chair. “You’re the boss today, okay?”
Olivia climbed into the seat with Bunny in her lap. I stood beside her, my hand open.
Clara lifted a curl gently. “Just this much?”
Olivia looked up at me.
“Your choice,” I said softly.
The scissors opened.
Olivia squeezed my fingers tightly, but she didn’t scream.
“Mommy,” she whispered, “do I still look like me?”
I kissed the top of her head.
“More than ever.”
That night, we placed the trimmed curl inside William’s memory box.
“Daddy still loves me?”
“Always,” I whispered. “Even when you’re completely grown up.”
And this time, she believed me.
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