What made you call in a favor you swore you’d never use?
The Crisis and the Unused Favor
What made you call in a favor you swore you’d never use? My six-year-old daughter, Pia, came back from her dad’s house with chunks of hair missing. I found her in the bathroom at 3:00 a.m. with safety scissors, cutting more off.
When I grabbed the scissors, she whispered:
“Daddy’s friends choose one girl for the basement. I have to be the ugly one or they’ll take me.”
She was shaking so hard she threw up. I called him begging for answers.
“You’re insane,” he said calmly. “I’m documenting this call. The judge will love hearing how you’re filling Pia’s head with sick fantasies.”
The custody threat. And two days later, I got my proof because that’s when Jasmine came over.
Jasmine was one of my ex’s seven daughters that he had with five different women, all with weekend custody arrangements. And she came over with chunks of hair missing.
Her mom mentioned Jasmine kept saying Pia saved me, but wouldn’t explain what that meant. That’s when I realized this wasn’t isolated to my daughter.
I called every parent whose daughter visited my ex’s house. Four other girls had cut their hair in the past 2 months.
One mom said her daughter kept a notebook tracking whose turn it was for basement time. Another found her six-year-old practicing making herself ugly with markers on her face at 2:00 a.m.
Four days until Pia’s next visit. My ex’s girlfriend sent me a text:
“Your daughter is teaching bad habits to the younger ones. Now none of them are suitable. This needs to stop.”
The word suitable made my skin crawl. I went to CPS with photos of the girls destroyed hair and statements from five mothers.
The case worker said children cut their hair all the time and without evidence of physical abuse, they couldn’t investigate. She actually wrote in her notes that I appeared to be coaching my daughter.
Three days wasted. One mother, Elizabeth, was my last hope.
Her daughter, Emily, used to have the prettiest hair of all the girls, long blonde and past her waist. Emily got picked for the basement two months ago and hadn’t been the same since.
She slept under her bed, wouldn’t let anyone bathe her, and drew pictures of stairs going down into darkness. Elizabeth looked broken when she told me Emily still had the hair she cut off saved in a box under her bed labeled before.
I had three days left and tried the police again. The officer actually smirked.
“Little girls playing hairdresser isn’t a crime, ma’am. Maybe focus on being a better co-parent.”
He slid the photos back without looking. Besides, your ex already called. Said, “You might come in with wild stories.”
That night, Pia stood at the mirror touching the small amount of regrowth.
“It’s getting pretty again,” she said matterofactly. “I’ll have to go down next time.”
My phone buzzed. It was my lawyer. I begged him to tell the judge I was sick in an accident, detained.
Any lie that would let me keep her home Friday. He stayed silent until I finished crying to say the words that broke me.
If I didn’t send Pia for her visit, I’d lose custody permanently. I had 24 hours to decide between contempt of court or sending my daughter back to that house.
Pia gave me Jasmine’s hair ribbon at breakfast.
“My hair grew back too fast last time. Jasmine had to go instead.”
The guilt in her six-year-old voice broke me. One hour left and Pia gripped my hand in the car.
“What if I can’t make myself ugly enough this time?”
