The sun was warm as we arrived at Melissa’s family’s Fourth of July barbecue. It was a milestone—my daughter Lily, 15, was finally confident enough to wear her summer dress with her forehead scar visible. “I’m tired of hiding,” she’d said. That was true courage. Everything was fine until Melissa’s mother leaned in and asked, fake-sweet, “What happened there?” Then added, “You’re not planning to show that in the wedding photos, are you?” Melissa stayed silent. That silence hurt more than the insult.
I asked Lily if she wanted to leave. “Yeah,” she said, then stood up and calmly said, “If we’re editing out what makes people uncomfortable, can we Photoshop out your extra 20 pounds?”