Today is my last day with my daughter. Tomorrow she will go to the Choosing Ceremony. I am not sure which of the other factions she will choose, but I know that she is not happy here in Abnegation. My husband is going to be crushed when she chooses another faction, especially if she chooses Erudite. Beatrice is much more inquisitive than most children from Abnegation. I often catch my son, Caleb, correcting her behavior. I have no doubt in my mind that he will stay. What frightens me the most is the thought of her choosing Dauntless. I have never told her about the faction that I grew up in. She has no idea that I grew up jumping on and off trains and eating the world's most delicious chocolate cake. I left at my mother's insistence. She was protecting me. At the time I had no idea of the dangers that come with being what I am. I still do not say it. Even the word makes me feel uncomfortable. Divergent. We are different. We do not think like other people. We do not get caught up in a group mentality. I use the term "we" because I know that I am not the only one. There are others like me and I think I will soon find out that Beatrice, my only daughter, is one of us.
I know that I need to get out of bed. There is barely any light outside, but I have to busy myself so that I do not stew in my dread of what the day brings. I gently place my feet on the ground and quickly walk to the bathroom. I make my shower as short as possible. I would not want to inconvenience anyone. After I am dressed, I go to the kitchen to prepare lunches for everyone. I am about to start breakfast when Caleb enters the kitchen.
"Good morning, Caleb." I say with a smile. He looks slightly distracted, but then he returns the smile and says good morning to me. I start to open the refrigerator when Caleb stops me.
"Please, let me cook breakfast. You'll have more time to trim Beatrice's hair that way."
I had almost forgotten about that. Beatrice is due for a hair cut. I have to be at the school early to help coordinate the aptitude tests. There is not much time before I have to leave, but I refuse to rush this. I will not waist one single moment I have left with her. As I head up the stairs I hear the water in the shower turn off. I knock softly on the bathroom door. "Beatrice, after you dress come to the mirror so that I can cut your hair."
"Ok, Mom," she says through the door. In the time it takes for her to dress, I am able to find my scissors and slide the mirror out. Beatrice turns the corner and sits in-between me and the mirror. I want to tell her to stay. I want to tell her what she might be. I want to tell her my story, but I refrain. She must make this decision on her own. So I give her a small smile and begin to cut her hair. My last time alone with my daughter.