I had watched Mark prepare those papers, but seeing them in Brenda’s lap with the television still black behind her felt different.
Final.
Cold in the exact way cold can be merciful.
Brenda looked from the forms to Mark and then to me.
“You got a lawyer over a haircut?”
Mark’s jaw tightened.
“I got a lawyer because you lied to a school to gain access to my child, took him somewhere without our permission, and altered his body to satisfy your own beliefs.
The haircut is not the only violation here.
It is just the one you can see.”
She opened her mouth, shut it, and opened it again.
“I was trying to help him.
Children get teased.
He looked—”
“Don’t,” Mark said.
It wasn’t loud, but it hit the room like a slap.
“He looked loved,” Mark continued.
“He looked like a little boy keeping a promise to his sister while she fought through chemotherapy.
