Chapter 181

Agnes

I rushed to Thea, kneeling in front of her vanity. Her long, brown hair now had a jagged chunk missing from the left side.

“Oh, Thea,” I said softly, brushing away the tears that streamed down her face. I was careful not to sound angry or disappointed. “Why did you cut your hair, sweetheart?”

Her lower lip trembled as she held up the severed chunk of hair. “One of the other kids showed me a picture on her mom’s phone,” she said between sniffles. “It was of... of Olivia.”

I tensed at the name, but kept my expression neutral. “What about the picture?”

“She had hair just like mine.” Thea sniffled, dropping the cut hank onto the vanity. “Long with no bangs and a middle part. Now that everyone knows the truth about her, they’re making fun of me for looking like her.” Her eyes welled up with fresh tears. “I don’t want to look like her! I hate her!”

My heart clenched. Truthfully, Thea didn’t share many physical traits with Olivia; she looked far more like her father, just with lighter hair. But I understood her pain.

“So you decided to cut your hair,” I said softly.

Thea nodded miserably. “Am I in trouble?”

“No, sweetheart,” I said immediately, gathering her into a hug despite the pain in my burned hands. “You’re not in trouble. Almost every kid tries to cut their own hair at some point.” I pulled back to look at her. “Even me.”

Her eyes widened. “You cut your hair?”

“Oh yeah. Big time.” I stood, retrieving the scissors from the floor. “Here, let me see what I can do to fix this, and I’ll tell you all about my hair disaster.”

Thea sat still as I examined the damage. Thankfully, she’d only managed to cut one section—a chunk from just above her ear—and the rest of her hair was still long and intact. With some strategic styling, I could make it work.

“So, I was about your age,” I began, carefully trimming the jagged edges. “And I decided that I wanted bangs, just like this girl Melissa in my class. But instead of asking my mom to take me to the salon, I grabbed the kitchen scissors and went to town.”

Thea blinked up at me, still sniffling. “What happened?”

“It was a disaster,” I said, grimacing at the memory. “I cut them way too short—practically up to my scalp in some places. And I cut my whole head, not just the front.”

“What did your parents say?” Thea asked, wincing slightly as I snipped.

“My mom screamed,” I admitted. “And then my dad laughed, which made my mom even madder. But the worst part was that they couldn’t even fix it properly without shaving my head completely.”

Thea’s mouth fell open. “They shaved your head?”

“Yep.” I paused my trimming to meet her eyes in the mirror. “So do you know what I did?” She shook her head, and I said with a fond smile, “I convinced my mom to buy me wigs. Purple ones. I wore a different shade of purple every day for about three months until my hair grew back into a short bob.”

Thea’s eyes lit up. “Purple hair? That sounds so cool!”

“It was pretty cool,” I agreed, continuing to snip at her hair. I was giving her side-swept bangs, which would disguise the missing chunk while giving her a completely different look from Olivia’s middle-parted style. “The other kids at school were super jealous. Suddenly, having a bad haircut became the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Thea was smiling now, watching me work in the mirror. “I wish I could have purple hair,” she said wistfully.

I paused, an idea forming. “Wait right here,” I told her, setting down the scissors. I remembered buying some temporary hair color sprays for the mother-daughter fashion show, but had never wound up using them. They were still in my bathroom cabinet.

Sure enough, I found the cans exactly where I’d left them. I grabbed one and returned to Thea’s room. “I know this is pink instead of purple, but what do you think?” I held it up.

Thea furrowed her brow. “What is it?”

“Temporary hair color,” I explained, shaking the can. “It washes out with shampoo, so it only lasts one day. But it’ll give you a little pink streak if you want.”

Thea’s face lit up like I’d just offered her the moon. “Really? You’d let me?”

“Of course,” I said, already sectioning off a small strand of her hair. “Just a little piece, though. We don’t want to go overboard for the festival.”

I sprayed a thin streak of vibrant fuschia down one side of her bangs. The effect was subtle but eye-catching—just enough to make her feel special without being too dramatic for a seven-year-old.

“There,” I said, stepping back to admire my work. “What do you think?”

Thea stared at her reflection, touching the pink strand with wonder. The bangs framed her face perfectly, and the haircut was now even and intentional-looking rather than a botched self-cut. With her new style and the splash of color, she looked nothing like Olivia.

Not that she ever really had before, but I knew it was more about identity and separating herself from the woman who had caused so much harm than actual appearance.

“I love it!” she exclaimed, jumping up to hug me. “Thank you, Mommy!”

As I held her, I couldn’t help thinking about my biological daughter. If she were here, if I’d had the chance to raise her, I would have handled her inevitable hair disasters just like this—with patience and understanding, turning them into moments of bonding rather than punishment. I’d never yell at her.

And I’d never yell at Thea, either. Because regardless of biology, she was my daughter now, and I was going to be there for every little moment. Only twice as much now, for her and the baby I’d lost.

“Come on,” I said, releasing her from the hug. “Let’s go show your dad your new look, and then we’ve got a festival to run.”

Thea nodded eagerly, already looking more confident with her new hairstyle. She practically skipped ahead of me as we made our way downstairs and out onto the lawn where the festival preparations were in full swing.

Elijah was directing some volunteers near the entrance, his back to us as we approached. When he turned and saw Thea, his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Thea? What happened to your hair?”

She faltered, shooting me a nervous glance. I gave her an encouraging nod.

“I cut it,” she admitted, scuffing her shoe against the grass. “Because some kids said I looked like... like Olivia.”

Elijah’s expression softened immediately. He crouched down to her level, gently turning her face toward his. “Listen to me, Thea. You’re nothing like Olivia. Not in looks, not in personality, not in anything that matters.”

“You’re not mad?” she asked in a small voice.

“Of course not,” he assured her, ruffling her newly styled bangs. “Besides, I think your new haircut looks fantastic. Very trendy. And is that... pink?”

Thea beamed, twirling the colored strand around her finger. “Mommy did it for me. It’s just for today, but it’s so cool, right?”

“Super cool,” Elijah agreed with a grin. “You’re going to be the most stylish kid at the festival.”

Just then, a group of children ran by, calling Thea’s name. She looked at us pleadingly.

“Go ahead,” I told her. “Just stay where we can see you, okay?”

She nodded and dashed off to join her friends, her confidence visibly restored as they immediately began admiring her new hairstyle.

Elijah straightened, turning to me with a curious expression. “How did you manage that?” he asked, gesturing toward Thea’s retreating form. “She looks like she just came from a professional salon, not like she took scissors to her own hair.”

I shrugged and smirked. “Years of practice fixing my own bad haircuts, I guess.”

Elijah’s eyes dropped to my bandaged hands. He gently lifted them, pressing the lightest of kisses to my palms through the gauze. “Thank you,” he said softly. “For taking care of her. For knowing exactly what she needed.”

“It wasn’t hard,” I admitted. “She just needed to know that it’s okay to be different from Olivia. That making her own choices about her appearance doesn’t make her bad or wrong.”

“You’re a good mother, Agnes,” Elijah murmured, his eyes warm as they met mine. “To both of our girls.”

I swallowed past the sudden tightness in my throat. Both of our girls. The daughter we were raising together, and the one I’d lost. It hurt to think about, and yet in that moment, standing in the morning sunlight with the festival coming to life around us, I felt strangely at peace with it.

“Come on,” I said, taking his hand with my bandaged one and pulling him toward the festivities. “I’m craving fried dough, and with these burns, I’ll need my husband to feed it to me.”

Elijah snorted and stumbled after me. “Figures,” he teased, but the smile on his face revealed a man who would catch the moon on a string for me if I’d asked.