too small to contain what was happening outside its walls, and I already knew that whatever those men wanted, it was tied to something I hadn’t yet understood.
That night had already left its mark on us before the call even came. I had found Letty in the bathroom holding a ribboned bundle of hair she had cut herself with kitchen scissors. Her hands had been shaking, but her eyes were steady in a way that terrified me more than anything else. She wasn’t acting out—she was acting forward, like she had made a decision too big for her age but too sincere to undo.
She told me about a girl at school who was losing her hair during cancer treatment, about laughter in a classroom that followed that girl continue reading …
