And I hoped she would eventually understand what my grandmother taught me long ago:
True beauty is not measured by what you can buy, how many people admire you, or how perfectly you appear in a photograph. It is measured by how you treat people who have nothing to offer you in return.
As for me, I learned something too.
Patience is valuable, but it does not mean allowing others to walk all over you. Standing up for yourself is important, but anger can tempt even a reasonable person into making choices they later regret.
I had been right to demand respect.
I had been wrong to use Brittany’s hair as a place to express my frustration.
Both things could be true.
The next morning, Emily sat at the kitchen table, happily playing with her new slime while I made breakfast.
She looked up at me with a mischievous grin.
