I told him I knew a bit about cutting hair and asked if he’d let me help tidy it up. After a moment, he agreed. When I lifted the brim of his hat, I froze.
His scalp wasn’t just uneven — it was scarred. Thin, silvery lines traced the shape of his head. Faint, but undeniable.
After a while, Jaden spoke again. “He got mad because I didn’t clean my room fast enough. I wasn’t talking back. He just…” His voice cracked. “I didn’t do anything.”
I swallowed hard. “You didn’t deserve that, Jaden. Not ever.”
He didn’t respond. But when I finished and handed him a mirror, he looked at himself for a long time. Then, slowly, he smiled — a small, shy curve of the lips that said more than words ever could.
The Weeks That Followed
From that day on, I made sure to check in. A quiet wave in the hallway. A shared lunch now and then. I didn’t push. I just wanted him to know someone saw him.
Little by little, he began to open up. One afternoon, he asked me, “Have you ever been scared to go home?”
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