The morning before my sister’s wedding, I woke up to find my hair gone. My mother had crept into my room at nigh…

I woke up to the sharp scent of something strange, metallic, bitter, and a lightness around my neck that made my heart drop. The mirror didn’t lie. My hair, my waist length, carefully grown and cared for chestnut hair, was hacked off in uneven clumps.

At first, I thought I’d been robbed. Mugged in my own bed. But then I saw the scissors lying neatly on my dresser.

The same craft scissors my mother used to cut old receipts. Next to them was a sticky note, like a slap to the face. You’ll still look fine.

Focus on your speech for Hannah’s big day. Mom. Please subscribe to our channel and tell us in comments from where are you watching this video.

I stood frozen, the strands still on my pillow, like part of me had died in my sleep. That wedding was supposed to be my one chance to stand in front of people who’d ignored me for years. To finally wear the navy silk dress I bought with my own salary.

Not ask anyone for approval and speak with confidence. Instead, I looked like I lost a bet. When I walked into the kitchen, my father barely looked up from his cereal.

Oh good, you’re up, he said. Less hair makes your face look less distracting anyway. The attention’s not supposed to be on you.

My mother sipped her coffee and added, it’s Hannah’s wedding. Let her shine. Let her shine? They acted like I was some threat to the sun, like I’d ruined the entire wedding just by standing in a nice dress and being… visible.

Let me explain something. I was the daughter they always managed, not the one they celebrated. Hannah got the designer dresses and violin lessons…