Grandma set the mirror down on her knee and looked straight at Marlene. “Daughter, come here,” she said. Marlene crossed the kitchen slowly, wiping her hands on her sweatshirt, and Grandma took both her hands in her own. “I did not ask for this hair,” she said. “I asked for someone to see me.” The room went completely silent. Marlene’s chin trembled, and she looked away toward the window, where a thin December light fell across the table.

“I raised you, and I know exactly how tired you are,” Grandma continued gently. “I should have told you that I was scared, and I should have told Tyler that I was ashamed to ask for help.” Marlene’s eyes filled. Behind us, the front door rattled and then opened, and a deep voice called, “Marlene, I am home early.” It was Gene, with his coat still on, standing in the doorway holding a bag of groceries and a bouquet of grocery-store roses.