Chapter 22 - Maisie Chooses a SalonMaisie was ten when she asked:
“Can I cut my hair short?”
Declan froze.
She noticed.
“You don’t want?”
His instinct wanted:
No.
Her hair had finally grown long again.
He loved it.
More importantly, it had become symbolic to him.
That was his problem.
Not hers.
He smiled.
“Your hair.”
At the salon, the stylist asked:
“How short?”
Maisie pointed to her chin.
“Here.”
“Are you sure?”
Maisie nodded.
“Yes.”
The stylist lifted the scissors.
Maisie’s shoulders tightened.
She breathed.
The stylist stopped immediately.
“Want a minute?”
“Yes.”
Five minutes later:
“Okay.”
Snip.
A lock fell.
Maisie watched it.
No tears.
The stylist asked after every major section.
“Still okay?”
“Yes.”
When finished, Maisie looked in the mirror.
Short brown bob.
Even.
Chosen.
She smiled.
“I like it.”
Declan’s eyes filled.
“Dad face,” she said.
He laughed.
He had learned not to make her haircut about his healing.
So he only said:
“You look happy.”
May you like
“I am.”
That was enough.
