He Cut My Hair. I Cut Him Off.

My boy friend Caleb Ford's childhood sweetheart, Julia Leclair, is losing her hair from chemotherapy. So, he orders me to cut mine off and make her a wig.

"Julia's allergic to synthetic wigs. You've been growing your hair for ten years—it's perfect."

I refuse, but his friends tie me down. Someone shaves my head to the scalp, buzzing through my thick, glossy hair until nothing's left but a butchered mess.

Julia sits in her wheelchair and laughs, saying I look like a toad.

Caleb smiles and nods in agreement. He adds with a chuckle, "It's just some hair. Was that really necessary?"

But back when I was bullied for having uneven, choppy short hair for six straight years, it was he who stood in front of me. He had his arms spread wide as he shielded me from harm.

Now he's the one wielding the blade.

One by one, their little circle chimes in. They tell me not to hold a grudge against someone who's sick.

Caleb snaps impatiently, "Stop trying to talk sense into her. She can get lost! Did you see that fit she threw over a few strands of hair? It's not like they won't grow back."

I turn around and walk away. I never look back.

Later, I hear that Caleb begs for my forgiveness by kneeling his way up 9000 steps until his knees are ruined.

They finally untied me after shaving my head bald.

"Caleb, look at her! She looks like a toad!"

Caleb Ford's childhood sweetheart, Julia Leclair, pointed at my head and laughed her lungs out while sitting in a wheelchair. His friends stood nearby, cracking up and joining in the mockery.

Caleb glanced at me and said lazily, "Julia is allergic to wigs on the market. Your long hair is just perfect for making one."

I didn't respond. Clutching the few strands left on my scalp, I felt like my heart had been sliced open.

Two hours ago, Caleb had asked me to join Julia's birthday party.

I never got along with Julia, but for Caleb's sake—and because she had cancer—I still showed up with a gift.

What I didn't expect was that this so-called party was actually an ambush. They tied me up and shaved my head.

As I stared at Caleb's indifferent expression, a memory came rushing back. Two days ago, he'd been oddly sweet to me. He even gave me a fancy set of shampoo and conditioner.

"It's dry out there. Take care of your hair, okay?"

I didn't understand why he had suddenly become so concerned, but I was touched. That night, I used them right away.

Only now did I realize that he only told me to take care of my hair so that Julia's wig would be softer and more comfortable for her.

Caleb suddenly walked over.

For a second, I thought that he was going to apologize. But then he pinched the last lock of hair left on my shoulder with visible disgust and