“Our daughter had an attitude because she liked her hair?”
“Bethany, don’t twist this.”
I laughed once. It sounded like something sharp snapping in half.
“She held our child down and shaved her bald.”
“She probably didn’t hold her down.”
“Meadow has cuts on her scalp.”
Something flickered across his face, but only briefly. “Mom can be intense, but she loves Meadow.”
“Love does not leave a child shaking on the floor.”
He lowered his voice. “You’re making this bigger than it is.”
That was when I finally understood the truth I had avoided for years. Dustin was not trapped between his mother and his family. He had already chosen. He chose every time he let Judith criticize me. Every time he told Meadow to ignore Grandma’s comments. Every time he translated cruelty into tradition and control into love.
