Chapter 3 - What Emily Gave Away
I woke Emily gently. For one confused second she looked around as if she'd forgotten everything that happened, and then her hand shot toward the back of her head. The moment her fingers met the short hair, her face fell. “Mom?” I sat beside her and showed her the messages. She read them twice, then looked at me with frightened eyes. “You know?” “Grandma told me.” Her chin trembled. “Are you mad?” That question broke something inside me.
I pulled her into my arms.
She resisted for half a second, probably because she expected a lecture.
Then she collapsed against me.
“No,” I whispered. “I'm not mad.”
“You were.”
“I was scared.”
“I didn't want you to stop me.”
“I know.”
“I know you loved my hair.”
“I loved brushing your hair because I love you.”
She started crying.
“I miss it.”
“I know.”
“I thought I wouldn't.”
“You can be proud of what you did and still miss it.”
That seemed to unlock something. Emily cried harder, telling me she felt selfish for regretting the haircut even for a second. I told her regret wasn't the right word. Loss could hurt even when it came from a choice.
Then I asked about Sophie.
Emily told me everything Linda hadn't.
Sophie loved space documentaries and believed aliens would avoid Earth because humans were embarrassing. She hated when adults whispered around her bed. She was furious that nurses called her brave because, in her words, “I don't have another option.” She wanted to become a veterinarian even though she was allergic to cats. She had a little brother named Noah who sneaked gummy bears into her hospital room.
Emily spoke faster and faster.
I realized this wasn't charity to her.
Sophie had become her friend.
“Can we go see her?”
I checked the time.
It was after seven.
“Let's call her mom first.”
Rachel answered on the second ring.
When I introduced myself, she went silent.
“Oh.”
That single syllable told me she knew I'd only just learned everything.
“I owe you an apology,” she said.
“No. I think several adults made questionable communication decisions today.”
She laughed weakly.
“That's fair.”
I asked about Sophie.
The infection was responding somewhat to treatment, but doctors remained concerned. Sophie was awake and alert. Visitors were restricted, though she could video call.
Emily leaned so close to my phone that our cheeks touched.
“Can I talk to her?”
Rachel hesitated.
“She keeps asking.”
A minute later, my phone rang on video.
Sophie appeared.
She looked smaller than she had in the photograph. Pale. Exhausted. A hospital blanket was tucked beneath her chin. Her pink cap was gone.
Emily froze.
Sophie stared.
Then her mouth fell open.
“No way.”
Emily smiled.
“You hate it?”
“You look like a dude.”
Emily gasped dramatically.
I covered my mouth.
Then Sophie started laughing.
It was weak laughter, interrupted by coughing, but real.
Emily laughed too.
“Grandma said I look adorable.”
“Grandmas are legally required to say that.”
“You're rude.”
“You knew that.”
They talked for ten minutes.
Not once did Sophie mention dying.
Not once did Emily treat her like someone fragile.
They argued over which haircut looked worse, discussed a teacher they both disliked despite attending different schools, and planned the first thing they would eat once Sophie could leave the hospital.
Before hanging up, Sophie became serious.
“You really gave me your hair?”
Emily nodded.
“Most of it.”
“Why?”
Emily shrugged.
“Because I had too much.”
Sophie rolled her eyes.
“That's not an answer.”
Emily hesitated.
Then said, “Because you wanted some.”
Sophie's eyes filled.
“That's stupid.”
“Probably.”
“You loved it.”
“It grows.”
“What if mine doesn't?”
Emily smiled.
“Then I'll grow more.”
I turned away because I couldn't let them see my face.
After the call, Emily stared at the dark phone screen.
“She's going to be okay, right?”
There it was.
The question every parent hates because children still believe adults possess answers.
“I don't know.”
She looked at me.
“You're supposed to say yes.”
“I know.”
“Grandma says we should think positive.”
“We should.”
“Then say she's going to be okay.”
I took her hand.
“I hope with everything I have that she's going to be okay.”
Emily looked angry.
Then frightened.
Then twelve.
“That's not the same.”
“No.”
She went quiet.
I explained carefully that Sophie's doctors were fighting for her, Sophie's body was fighting too, and none of us could promise an outcome.
Emily's eyes filled again.
“What if she doesn't get to wear the wig?”
I had no answer.
The next morning, Emily insisted on coming with Linda and me to deliver the hair.
The organization operated out of a converted office near the hospital. A woman named Marissa greeted us and carefully examined the ponytails.
“This is extraordinary,” she said.
Emily looked embarrassed.
“How much can you use?”
“Nearly all of it.”
Marissa explained the process. The hair would be prepared, sorted, and potentially combined with other donations depending on the custom piece. When Linda mentioned Sophie, Marissa's expression softened.
“We know her case.”
Apparently Rachel had already submitted an application to their children's program.
“Can my hair go to her?”
Marissa looked at Emily.
“We usually can't promise that a particular donor's hair goes exclusively to one recipient.”
Emily's face fell.
“But given the circumstances, we're going to see what we can do.”
“How long?”
“Several weeks at minimum.”
Emily looked toward the hospital across the street.
Several weeks.
Neither of us said what we were thinking.
Would Sophie have several weeks?
Before leaving, Emily asked if she could keep one tiny lock.
Marissa cut a narrow strand from one bundle and tied it with a ribbon.
Emily handed it to me.
“For Sunday.”
“What do you mean?”
“So you still have some to brush.”
I nearly lost it again.
Instead, I kissed her forehead.
“We can find a new Sunday thing.”
That afternoon, Daniel returned early from his trip.
I had called him the previous night, and after the initial ten seconds of stunned silence, he'd driven home as soon as he could.
He walked through the door, saw Emily, and stopped.
Emily immediately touched her head self-consciously.
Daniel crossed the room.
“You look beautiful.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Not like a boy?”
Daniel frowned.
“Who said that?”
“Sophie.”
He laughed.
“Then Sophie sounds dangerous.”
Emily smiled.
We sat together and talked about everything.
Including the fact she'd heard us arguing over money.
Daniel's face went pale.
“You don't ever need to fix our problems,” he told her.
“I wasn't.”
“You were worried.”
“A little.”
He took her hand.
“Our job is to worry about bills. Your job is to complain about homework and leave cups in your bedroom.”
“I can do that.”
“You're excellent at it.”
Then his voice became serious.
“Giving something away because you want to help someone is beautiful. Giving something away because you think your parents can't handle life isn't.”
Emily nodded.
“Okay.”
“And no more enormous secrets from Mom and me.”
She glanced toward me.
“Even good secrets?”
“Especially good secrets involving scissors.”
She smiled.
For the first time since the haircut, the tension in our house began to ease.
Then Linda called.
Sophie's infection had worsened.
She had been moved back into intensive monitoring.
Rachel had asked for prayers.
Emily went silent.
An hour later, she disappeared upstairs.
I found her sitting on the floor in front of her mirror.
She was running both hands repeatedly through her short hair.
“Do you hate it?” I asked.
“No.”
“Then what's wrong?”
She looked at me through the mirror.
“What if it was for nothing?”
I sat behind her.
“It wasn't.”
“But if Sophie—”
She couldn't finish.
I wrapped my arms around her.
“It wasn't for nothing.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you made her laugh last night.”
Emily stared at me.
“You gave her a reason to think about something after the hospital. A wig. School. Taking pictures with you. That's not nothing.”
She leaned against me.
We stayed like that for a long time.
That night, the whole family ate dinner together.
Emily wore no hood.
For the first time, she didn't keep touching her hair.
After dinner, Sunday evening arrived.
Our old ritual.
Without discussing it, Emily sat on the carpet between my knees.
I stared at the back of her pixie cut.
She glanced over her shoulder.
“This is awkward.”
I laughed.
“A little.”
“So what do we do now?”
I put the old wooden brush down.
Then I picked up a bottle of nail polish from the table.
“You've been asking me to let you paint my nails neon green for three years.”
Emily grinned.
“Seriously?”
“Don't make me regret it.”
For the next twenty minutes, she painted my nails the ugliest green I'd ever seen.
We laughed until Daniel came in and announced that I looked radioactive.
For a few minutes, life felt normal again.
At 9:18 p.m., Rachel called.
I watched Emily's face as I answered.
Rachel was crying.
My heart stopped.
But then she spoke.
“The antibiotics are working.”
I closed my eyes.
“She isn't out of danger,” Rachel continued. “But her fever is coming down.”
Emily heard her.
She screamed.
Daniel rushed into the room thinking someone was hurt.
Emily launched herself at him.
“She's getting better!”
That night was the first time I allowed myself to believe Sophie might actually get to wear the hair my daughter had given her.
But the following week brought something none of us expected.
Because Emily's haircut was about to become public.
May you like
And once strangers learned what she'd done, not everyone reacted with kindness.
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