I Don’t Like Your Hair, Mum
The first time June said it, she was perched on the bathroom counter like a sparrow on a fence post, her small legs swinging back and forth while Eileen stood beside her with a toothbrush in hand."I don't like your hair, Mum."The words landed without warning.Eileen stopped brushing. For a second, the bathroom seemed to hold its breath — the humming extractor fan, the drip of a tap that never quite shut properly.She looked at June's reflection. There was no malice there. No cruelty. Just the […]https://salamahrosna-rysmh.wordpress.com/2026/06/11/i-dont-like-your-hair-mum/











