What I did not understand was that cruelty does not always disappear. Sometimes it simply finds a new target.
PART TWO — THE GIRL IN THE HOOD
The afternoon everything changed, I was in the kitchen slicing vegetables for dinner when the front door opened.
Usually, Maya announced herself before she had even removed her shoes.
“Mom, what are we eating?”
“Mom, can I have a snack?”
“Mom, I forgot my science worksheet.”
That day, I heard only the dull thud of her backpack against the hallway wall.
“Maya?” I called.
No answer.
I put down the knife and wiped my hands. A strange uneasiness moved through me before I even reached the living room.
She stood beside the couch with her coat zipped to her chin. Her hood covered her head, and her backpack was still strapped tightly over both shoulders. She looked as though she wanted to become smaller than the room around her.
“Sweetheart?”
Her gaze dropped to the floor.
I stepped closer. “Did something happen at school?”
She gave the faintest shake of her head.
“Maya, please look at me.”
When she did, her eyes were swollen and red.
My heart began to pound.
I reached toward her hood. She flinched so sharply that I froze.
“What happened?” I whispered.
She said nothing.
Slowly, I pulled the hood back.
For several seconds, my mind refused to understand what I was seeing.
Her hair—the hair I had braided that very morning—was gone.
What remained ended in ragged, uneven pieces above her shoulders. One side hung lower than the other. Short sections stuck out behind her ears. The ends looked as if they had been chewed through rather than carefully cut.
