“That girl is so fortunate.”
And perhaps she truly was.
Her father was reliably present.
Yet each time I observed him weaving that massive length of hair, my gaze drifted to Goldie instead.
I watched her clutch the braid in one hand while running to avoid stepping on it.
I noticed her gathering it into her fist during meals so she could lean forward toward her lunch tray.
On one occasion, when she rose from a table, another student accidentally trapped the end beneath a backpack.
Goldie offered no complaints.
She simply waited patiently until the other child moved.
She stood at just nine years of age.
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