Blurb：
When a child discovers a mysterious, curled hair in their father's meticulously clean car, a family's perfect facade begins to crumble. The strand of hair belongs to Ms. Hayes, the charming teacher whose perfume scent matches the one on Dad's shirt. As secrets unravel, Mom's heartbreak and Dad's denials clash in a tense household. Can innocence survive when trust is broken? Dive into this emotional drama filled with suspicion, betrayal, and the haunting question: Who is Ms. Hayes really?
Content：
My dad never did housework, but he treated his car like a temple. Every day after work, he’d wipe it down until it was spotless.Today, Mom asked me to grab a shopping bag she’d left inside.
I was in the passenger seat when I saw it—a single, long, curled hair on the floor mat. I picked it up.
“Mom,” I asked, holding it out as she reached for the bag. “When did you get your hair curled just like Ms. Hayes?”
1
Her hand froze mid-air.
Her eyes fixed on the strand of hair between my fingers, and the smile on her face didn't just fade, it collapsed.
“What is it, Mom?”
She didn’t say anything. She just took the hair from me, her fingers rolling it, holding it up to the light. After a long moment, she tossed it into the small trash bin by the door. Her voice trembled just a little.
“It’s nothing, sweetie. I haven’t curled my hair. Just some dirt that blew into the car.”
She pulled me up the stairs to our apartment, her pace suddenly urgent.
Back inside, she didn’t play with me or turn on the TV like she usually did. She just stood by the front door, waiting. The dim light of the entryway stretched her shadow long and thin across the floor.
When Dad got home, he was humming, a cheerful, carefree tune.
“Honey, I’m home.”
He opened his arms for a hug, but Mom took a sharp step back, her eyes locked on the collar of his shirt.
His arms hung awkwardly in the air. “What’s wrong?”
She didn’t answer. She just leaned in, helping him off with his jacket, and pressed her nose to the fabric for a moment.
“Cole,” she said, her voice flat. “You smell like perfume.”
He blinked, then laughed, a little too loud. “Oh, that. I was at a dinner with a new client, a woman. Must have gotten too close when we were talking. You know how it is.” He started to pull up his sleeve to show her.
Mom didn’t look. Instead, she opened her hand. Lying on her palm was the long, curled strand of hair.
“Is that so?” she said, her voice dangerously quiet. “And did this client also happen to leave her hair in your passenger seat?”
The blood drained from my father’s face.
He stared at the hair, his mouth opening and closing, but no words came out. After a few seconds, he snatched the hair from her hand and threw it on the floor, his voice turning cold.
“What are you trying to say? You’re going to interrogate me over a stray hair and a little scent? The kid is right here!”
He pulled me behind him, crouching down to squeeze my cheeks. “Lily, sweetie, don’t you worry. Daddy only has room in his heart for you and Mommy.”
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The End