Chapter 11 - SOPHIE’S MOTHER
A year after the porch, Megan met Courtney Wells in person.
Not for court.
Not for lawyers.
Coffee.
Courtney brought Sophie.
Megan brought Alison only after both therapists agreed and both girls said yes.
They met in a bright bakery with big windows and too many pastries.
Sophie had shoulder-length brown-blond hair now.
Alison’s curls had grown past her chin.
At first the girls barely spoke.
Then Sophie saw Alison twisting one curl around her finger.
She said:
“Mine used to be long too.”
Alison nodded.
“Did Miss Janice tell you sick kids needed it?”
Sophie nodded.
“She said I’d be selfish if I changed my mind.”
Alison looked toward Megan.
Megan’s stomach tightened but she stayed quiet.
Sophie continued:
“My mom got mad.”
“My mom got mad too.”
That made both girls laugh.
Simple.
Almost unbearably simple.
Adults had spent a year creating affidavits and theories.
Children found connection in:
Our moms got mad.
Courtney and Megan sat at another table a few feet away.
Courtney said quietly:
“I thought I was overreacting when it happened.”
“So did everyone around you?”
“Some.”
She stirred coffee.
“My sister said, ‘It’s only hair.’”
Megan nodded.
“People like reversible harm. It lets them pretend consent doesn’t matter.”
Courtney looked at her.
“That’s exactly it.”
Neither woman wanted their daughters defined by the incident.
So they did not turn the meeting into trauma bonding.
After twenty minutes, the girls were comparing stickers and arguing over which cupcake had more frosting.
Before leaving, Sophie handed Alison a small plastic butterfly clip.
“For when it gets longer.”
Alison touched it.
Then asked:
“Can I use it now?”
Sophie shrugged.
“Sure.”
Alison clipped it above her ear.
May you like
Crooked.
Perfect.
