Usually, I could hear music playing from Lily’s room or the sound of her moving around upstairs. But today, there was nothing but silence.
“Lily?” I called out, setting my keys on the hallway table. “Honey, I’m home early!”
No response.
I figured she must be in her room, maybe taking a nap or doing homework with her headphones on.
I climbed the stairs and pushed open her bedroom door, expecting to see her curled up on her bed with a book or her phone. But the bed was empty, the covers still made from this morning. That’s when I heard it — a soft, muffled sound coming from the bathroom.
I took a few steps toward the closed door and froze.
I could hear her sobbing behind the locked door. At that point, panic shot through me like electricity, and my hands trembled as I knocked urgently on the door.
“Lily! Lily, open this door right now!” My voice came out loud and desperate.
The crying stopped abruptly, replaced by silence.
“Mom?” Her voice was small, shaky, caught off guard. “Yes, it’s me. Open the door, sweetheart.
Please.” I tried to sound calmer, but my heart was hammering against my ribs.
“I can’t. Just go away, please.”
“Lily, I’m not going anywhere.
Either you open this door, or I’m opening it myself.”
When she didn’t respond, something inside me snapped. I couldn’t take it anymore.
I couldn’t stand outside one more time, helpless and terrified, while my daughter suffered alone.
I threw my shoulder against the door, and the old lock gave way easily, the door swinging open with a bang. What I saw made me freeze. I couldn’t make sense of it.
Lily was sitting on the cold tile floor, surrounded by old makeup bags I recognized from years ago.
Hairbrushes, bobby pins, and hair ties were scattered around her like she’d been studying them. A tiny handheld mirror sat in front of her, and taped to its frame was a photograph that made my eyes widen.
It was a picture of me at 15. I was smiling at the camera, my hair perfectly styled, and my makeup flawless.
I remembered that photo.
It had been taken for the school yearbook during my sophomore year. “Lily, what is all this?” I whispered, kneeling beside her. That’s when she completely broke down.
Tears streamed down her face as she buried her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking with sobs that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry,” she cried.
“Sorry for what, baby? Talk to me.
Please, just talk to me.”
She took a shuddering breath and looked up at me with eyes so full of pain that it physically hurt to see.
“The girls at school, they make fun of me every single day,” she began, her voice cracking. “They laugh at my hair because it’s frizzy and won’t stay straight like theirs. They point at my acne and whisper about it when I walk past them in the hallway.
Madison and Brooke…
they’re the worst. They call me names and make comments about my clothes because they know I don’t have the expensive brands they wear.”
My hands clenched into fists.
I wanted to march into that school and confront every single one of those girls. “But the worst part,” Lily continued, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, “was last week.
Madison found your old yearbook photo online somehow.
She showed it to everyone, passing her phone around the cafeteria. She said I was nothing like what you used to be. She called me the cheap version of my own mother.”
Those words hit me hard.
I felt like someone had reached into my chest and squeezed my heart until it couldn’t beat properly.
“So, I’ve been coming in here every day,” Lily said, gesturing to the makeup and brushes around her. “I’ve been trying to learn how to do makeup like you did.
Trying to fix my hair and make myself look prettier. I watch tutorials on my phone and practice over and over, but I can’t get it right.
I can’t make myself look good enough.”
But then she said something that completely shattered me into pieces.
“I don’t want to disappoint you, Mom.” Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “I don’t want you to feel ashamed when people see me and realize I’m your daughter. I don’t want you to look at me and wish I were prettier, like you are.
Everyone says how beautiful you were in high school, and then they look at me like I’m some kind of mistake.”
I felt my own tears start to fall.
I couldn’t hold them back anymore. “Oh, Lily.
Baby, no.” I reached out and took her face gently in my hands, making her look at me. “Listen to me very carefully.
That girl in that picture?
She was miserable. The smiles you see in those yearbook photos were fake. I spent hours every morning trying to look perfect because I thought that’s what mattered.
I thought if I could just be pretty enough, people would like me, and I would finally feel good enough.”
Lily looked at me in silence.
“But I was so insecure, Lily. I was terrified every single day that someone would see through the makeup and the hair and realize I was just as scared and uncertain as everyone else.
Beauty never mattered, sweetheart. It never made me happy.
You know what makes me happy?
You. Exactly as you are right now.”
“But I’m not pretty like you,” she whispered. “You’re so much more than pretty.
You’re kind, smart, funny, and creative.
You have the biggest heart of anyone I know. And I have been so busy working and worrying about money that I failed to see you were fighting this battle all alone.
I failed to tell you every single day how incredible you are.”
I pulled her into my arms and held her tight while we both cried. We sat there on the bathroom floor for what felt like hours, just holding each other and letting everything spill out.
Eventually, the tears slowed, and we started talking.
I told her stories about my own insecurities in high school, and about the times I felt inadequate and scared. She told me more about Madison and Brooke, the daily comments, and how they made her feel invisible. “From now on, things are going to be different,” I promised her.
“I’m going to come home early one day every week, and we’re going to have beauty hours together.
Not because you need to change who you are, but because if you want to learn about makeup and hair, we should do it together. For fun.
Not because anyone else expects it from you.”
A small smile appeared on her tear-stained face. “Really?”
“Really.
And Lily, I need you to promise me something.
If those girls say anything cruel to you again, you come straight to me. We’ll talk to the school counselor and your teachers. You don’t have to face this alone anymore.”
She nodded and leaned her head against my shoulder.
The weeks that followed brought slow but steady changes.
True to my word, I started coming home early every Wednesday. We would sit together in front of the bathroom mirror, trying different makeup looks and laughing when we made mistakes.
Sometimes we didn’t even use makeup at all. We just talked, braided each other’s hair, and ate ice cream straight from the container.
I noticed Lily started holding her head a little higher when she left for school.
She stopped rushing to her room when she got home and began talking to me again about her classes, friends, and dreams. A few months later, while I was making dinner, Lily said something that made my heart swell with pride. “Mom, I don’t lock the bathroom door anymore.
I don’t need to hide in there to feel pretty.
I just needed to know you love me the way I am.”
I set down the spatula I was holding and hugged her tight, tears streaming down my face again. But this time, they weren’t tears of fear or heartbreak but of joy, relief, and overwhelming love for this brave, beautiful girl who was finally learning to see herself the way I’d always seen her.
Perfect, exactly as she was meant to be.
