She was in the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel, completely at ease.
“Oh good, you’re here,” she said casually. “Doesn’t he look so much better?”
Better.
The word echoed in my head.
“You cut his hair?” I asked, keeping my voice as steady as I could.
She waved a hand dismissively.
“It was too long. Always in his face. He looked messy.”
I felt something shift inside me.
Not loud.
Not explosive.