Chapter 1 - WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER HAIR?
Megan Carter knew something was wrong before Alison turned around.
It was the way her daughter stood on the porch.
Five years old, usually bouncing on the balls of her feet whenever Megan arrived for Monday school pickup, Alison stood perfectly still beneath the white porch light with both hands folded against the front of her navy school dress.
Janice stood behind her in a pale robe.
Arms crossed.
Smiling.
Megan climbed the final porch step holding Alison’s pink backpack and felt the smile disappear from her own face.
Her daughter’s blond curls were gone.
Not trimmed.
Not shaped.
Gone.
The soft waist-length hair Alison had refused to cut beyond the ends since she was three had been hacked to just below her ears in uneven chunks. One side was noticeably shorter. A jagged section stuck outward behind her left ear.
Megan dropped the backpack.
“What did you do to my daughter’s hair?”
Alison’s lower lip trembled.
Janice rolled her eyes.
“Oh, for God’s sake.”
She reached toward Alison’s head as if displaying something charming.
Megan moved instantly.
She pulled Alison behind her and blocked Janice’s hand.
“Don’t touch her.”
Janice’s expression hardened.
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“Did Eric agree to this?”
“He doesn’t need your permission to manage his own child.”
“I asked if he agreed.”
Janice stepped forward, trying to move around Megan.
Megan held her ground.
Janice was taller.
It didn’t matter.
“She gave it to me,” Janice said. “I needed it more than she did.”
For a second Megan genuinely thought she had misheard.
“What?”
Alison started crying.
Not loud crying.
The frightened, silent kind where tears simply began falling down her cheeks while she clung to the back of Megan’s shirt.
Janice looked sharply at the child.
That look told Megan more than the haircut did.
Megan shifted again, fully shielding Alison.
“Baby,” she said without turning, “you’re okay.”
Alison touched the back of her uneven hair.
Then whispered:
“She said Daddy would come home if I gave her all my curls.”
Everything inside Megan stopped.
Janice’s face changed.
Only slightly.
Enough.
Megan pulled out her phone and started recording.
Janice reached for it.
Megan jerked her hand away.
“Tell him,” Megan said coldly, “why you needed my daughter to believe that.”
“Stop filming me.”
“Tell him.”
Footsteps sounded inside.
Eric appeared in the hallway wearing a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, overnight bag still over one shoulder.
He had apparently entered through the garage only seconds earlier.
He stopped when he saw Alison.
His face went blank.
“What happened to her?”
Janice spun toward him.
“Eric, she wanted—”
“No.”
Alison pressed harder against Megan.
Eric’s eyes moved from his daughter to his wife.
Then to the floor behind Janice.
Something was partly hidden beside the umbrella stand.
A clear salon bag.
Inside it sat a thick bundle of long blond curls tied neatly near one end.
Alison’s hair.
Eric stared.
Then crouched and pulled the bag out.
Janice lunged.
“Give me that.”
Eric moved it away.
Attached to the plastic was a white salon tag.
Not Alison’s name.
SOPHIE WELLS — AGE 7
Eric froze.
Megan saw the name.
So did Janice.
The color vanished from Janice’s face.
Eric slowly looked up at his wife.
“Who the hell is Sophie Wells?”
Janice grabbed for the bag again.
This time Eric stood and stepped away.
May you like
And Megan suddenly understood that what happened to Alison might not have started that morning.
It might not even have started with Alison.
