I swear, I nearly called the police on my mother-in-law before she could even finish explaining herself.

My husband Mark and I were both traveling for work, so my MIL, Diane, had agreed to stay at our home with our 7-year-old daughter, Emma.

I was hesitant.

Diane had always held very strong opinions about parenting.

Emma’s hair was “too messy.”

Her clothes were “too babyish.”

I packed “way too much sugar” in her lunch.

I didn’t make her behave quietly enough at restaurants.

Mark kept insisting that I worried too much.

“She raised three children,” he said. “Emma will be fine.”

So I left.

The moment I walked through the door four days later, Emma came racing toward me.

“Mommy!”

I dropped my suitcase and held out my arms.

Then she smiled.

“Look!”

She opened her mouth.

I froze.

Several of her baby teeth were missing.

Not one.

Not two.

Several.

There were spaces where I knew there hadn’t been four days earlier.

“What happened to your mouth?”

Emma’s smile v@nished.

Her hand immediately rose to cover it.

“Grandma helped me.”

I slowly turned toward the kitchen.

Diane was sitting at the table sipping coffee.

She seemed completely relaxed.

“You did what?”

Diane sighed.

“Oh, please. They’re only baby teeth.”

“You took them out?”

“They would’ve fallen out eventually anyway.”

I crouched down in front of Emma.

“Sweetheart, were they loose?”

Emma glanced toward her grandmother.

Then back at me.

“Some of them.”

I stood so quickly I nearly knocked my suitcase over.

“Why would you touch her teeth without contacting me?”

Diane rolled her eyes.

“Because whenever I try to tell you anything about that child, you behave like I’m att@cking your parenting.”

“You pulled my daughter’s teeth.”

“Quit being dramatic.”

That sentence almost pushed me over the edge.

Diane smiled toward Emma.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you go upstairs? Grandma and Mommy have to talk.”

“No,” I said.

Diane stared at me.

“Excuse me?”

“She stays.”

Something shifted in Emma’s expression.

She stepped closer to me.

Diane crossed her arms.

“Fine. Do you actually want to know why I did it, or would you rather keep scre:aming?”

“I’d absolutely love to know why.”

“Because you weren’t doing anything about them.”

“About baby teeth?”

“Exactly. She’s seven. They looked ridiculous.”

For a second, I honestly couldn’t understand what she meant.

Then I realized.

“You removed my daughter’s teeth because you disliked the way they looked?”

Diane leaned toward me.

“You should actually thank me. Kids notice these things. I didn’t want her being teased.”

Next to me, Emma became completely still.

Then she quietly whispered something.

“Grandma said nobody would want to take pictures with me.”

I stared at Diane.

“Tell me she’s lying.”

Diane said nothing.

“Tell me you didn’t say that to her.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. I told her she’d look much prettier after those crooked baby teeth were gone. There’s nothing wrong with wanting your granddaughter to look presentable.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

Emma had always adored photographs.

She’d make ridiculous faces whenever I took one. Crossed eyes. Puffy cheeks. Giant toothy smiles.

Now she was hiding her mouth behind both hands.

“Get out.”

Diane blinked.

“What?”

“Get your belongings and leave.”

Her expression hardened.

“You’re kicking me out after everything I’ve done for you?”

“I’m kicking you out because you made my seven-year-old believe there was something wrong with her face.”

Diane grabbed her purse.

Then, right before reaching the door, she turned around.

“You should ask Emma why she never stopped me.”

I stared at her.

“What?”

Diane looked toward my daughter.

“If it was honestly so terrible, ask her why she continued letting me help.”

Then she walked outside.

The door slammed.

I turned toward Emma.

She was looking at the floor.

I wanted to chase after Diane.

Instead, I knelt.

“Emma, look at me.”

She wouldn’t.

I gently touched her arm.

“You are not in trouble.”

Her eyes eventually lifted.

“Did Grandma pull more than one tooth at once?”

A small nod.

“Did you want her to?”

Emma’s eyes filled with tears.

“At first.”

My anger kept me from speaking.

“What do you mean, at first?”

She wiped her nose against her sleeve.

“The first one was wiggly.”

That made sense. Emma had shown me that tooth before I left. It had been loose for weeks.

“Grandma said she knew a trick so it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Did it hurt?”

“A little bit.”

She opened her mouth.

I carefully examined the gaps.

“What about the others?”

Emma’s voice became quieter.

“She said those needed help too.”

My stomach twisted.

“Did you tell her no?”

Emma nodded.

“Then why did Grandma say you kept coming back?”

Her face coll@psed.

“Because she said if I let her finish, she’d stop.”

I went cold.

“But every time she said she was finished, she found another one.”

I wrapped Emma tightly in my arms.

She pressed her face against my shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Mommy.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

I held her even closer.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

Once she’d calmed down, I called our dentist.

The office was preparing to close, but after I explained what had happened, they told me to bring Emma in right away.

I took pictures first.

Every gap.

Every swollen area.

Every place Emma said was hurting.

Then I texted Mark.

“CALL ME NOW.”

He called before I’d even finished putting Emma’s shoes on.

“What’s wrong?”

“Your mother pulled out Emma’s teeth.”

Silence.

“What?”

“Several of them.”

“Wait. What do you mean she pulled them out?”

“I mean exactly what I said.”

He started talking about calling his mother.

“No. Don’t call her. We’re going to the dentist. Meet us there.”

The dentist examined Emma while I sat beside her and held her hand.

Two of the missing teeth had been ready to fall out.

The others had not.

One spot was severely irritated.

The dentist looked at me.

“How were these removed?”

“Her grandmother did it.”

He stopped writing.

“Her grandmother?”

I nodded.

His expression told me everything I needed to understand.

Emma squeezed my hand.

Then she looked toward the dentist.

“Will the new ones grow straight?”

He smiled softly.

“They’ll grow however they’re supposed to grow.”

Emma frowned.

“Grandma said she was fixing them.”

The dentist glanced at me.

I looked away before Emma could see my expression.

During the drive home, she barely spoke.

Then, halfway there, she asked, “Mommy?”

“Yes?”

“Are you mad about the other one?”

“What other one?”

Emma touched her pocket.

“I saved one.”

I pulled into a parking lot.

“What do you mean you saved one?”

She pulled a tissue from her pocket.

It had been folded again and again until it was hardly larger than a coin.

Emma carefully unfolded it.

Inside was one tiny baby tooth.

“Grandma missed this one,” she whispered.

My chest tightened.

“Missed it?”

“It fell out on its own.”

She looked almost ashamed.

“I hid it before she could take it.”

I stared down at the tiny tooth.

“Why?”

Emma swallowed.

“Because Grandma kept the others.”

I thought I’d heard her wrong.

“She kept them?”

Emma nodded.

“She said she needed them.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know.”

Then she said something that made me immediately reach for my phone.

“She put them in the blue box.”

I’d noticed Diane carrying that box when she left.

I hadn’t given it a second thought.

I called Mark before I even left the parking lot.

“Your mother has Emma’s teeth.”

“What?”

“The teeth she pulled. She took them home.”

There was a long silence.

Then Mark said, “I’m going over there.”

“We’re going over there.”

“Maybe Emma shouldn’t come.”

“Emma is staying with me.”

I wasn’t letting her leave my sight.

When we arrived at Diane’s house, Mark was already waiting on the porch.

He looked pale.

“She called me.”

“And?”

“She says we’re making this into something bigger than it is.”

“Of course she thinks that.”

Emma held my hand as we walked inside.

Diane was standing in the living room.

The blue box rested on the coffee table.

I pointed toward it.

“Open it.”

Diane folded her arms.

“You’re acting like a lunatic.”

“Open the box.”

Mark stepped closer.

“Mom.”

Something in his tone finally made her move.

She raised the lid.

Inside were three tiny envelopes. Each one had a date from the four days I’d been gone.

My stomach dropped.

I picked one up.

There was a tooth inside.

And another.

“Why did you keep them?”

Diane sighed.

“For the Tooth Fairy.”

“Then why didn’t Emma have them?”

“I was planning to let her put them beneath her pillow one at a time.”

Emma suddenly spoke up.

“You said I couldn’t keep them.”

Diane looked toward her.

“I said Grandma would take care of them.”

“No.”

Emma stepped behind my arm.

“You said they were ugly.”

Diane’s expression tightened.

“Emma, that’s not what I meant.”

“She told me not to smile.”

Mark stared at his mother.

“What?”

Emma was crying now.

“She took a picture and said I looked funny because you could see the crooked ones.”

Mark’s face turned white.

I remembered Diane’s final remark.

Ask Emma why she kept coming back.

Now I understood exactly what she’d been doing.

She wasn’t simply removing teeth.

She’d been convincing Emma that something was wrong with her until a seven-year-old believed allowing Grandma to “fix” her was better than looking ugly.

Mark picked up the blue box.

“You’re done.”

Diane laughed once.

“Don’t pretend you’re innocent. You told me to handle it.”

I turned toward Mark.

“What?”

His expression shifted.

“I told her if one was already coming out, she could handle it. I never thought she’d pull anything that wasn’t ready.”

“Why?”

“Because I knew you’d say no.”

Emma’s voice came quietly from behind me.

“I told Daddy on the phone I didn’t like Grandma touching my teeth.”

Mark went pale.

I stared straight at him.

“You knew?”

“I thought Mom was only checking them. I was wrong.”

“You knew Emma didn’t like it.”

He looked toward our daughter.

“I know.”

Then he faced Diane.

“Look at her.”

For once, Diane actually did.

Emma immediately covered her mouth.

Mark’s voice cracked.

“She never used to do that.”

Diane said nothing.

“She smiled in every photo. She smiled at strangers. She smiled with food stuck between her teeth. And now she’s covering her mouth because of you.”

“I was only trying to help her.”

“No,” Mark said. “You were trying to change her.”

Diane turned toward me.

I recognized that expression.

Somehow, this was about to become my fault.

Sure enough, she said, “This is what happens when children grow up without standards.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Mark stared at her.

Then something in his expression shifted.

“You did this to us too.”

I looked toward him.

He was staring down at the box.

“What?”

Mark touched one of his front teeth.

“When I was nine, she made me stop smiling with my mouth open.”

Diane scoffed.

“You had a massive gap.”

“I was nine.”

“It was embarrassing.”

“For who?”

She didn’t respond.

“She made me retake my fourth-grade photo because I smiled.”

Diane crossed her arms.

“You looked ridiculous.”

Mark stared at her.

“I was nine.”

Diane stood up.

“This is ridiculous. I wanted my children to present themselves properly.”

Mark shook his head.

“You taught us to feel ashamed of ourselves.”

Diane looked furious now.

“After everything I sacrificed for you.”

There it was.

The sentence that had ended every disagreement during Mark’s childhood.

Except this time, he didn’t retreat.

“You don’t get to do that to Emma.”

Diane looked toward her granddaughter.

“I love that little girl.”

“Then you should’ve listened when she told you no.”

“I knew what was best.”

“She’s not your daughter.”

Diane flinched.

Mark placed the lid back onto the blue box.

“You won’t be alone with her anymore.”

“Mark.”

“No.”

His voice remained calm.

That seemed to frighten her more than shouting ever could have.

“And whether she has any relationship with you after this depends on what Emma feels comfortable with. And if she does, you will never comment on her teeth, her hair, her body, her clothes, or whether she looks pretty enough for a photograph.”

Diane turned toward me.

“You’re really going to let him do this?”

I almost laughed.

“You still believe I’m the problem.”

We brought the blue box home.

That night, I sat beside Emma on her bed.

I placed the envelopes in front of her.

“These are yours.”

She touched one.

“Even the ugly ones?”

My heart shattered all over again.

“None of them are ugly.”

She studied my expression.

“Grandma said people notice your teeth first.”

“Some people notice teeth. Some notice hair. Some notice shoes. But nobody has the right to hurt you because they dislike how something looks.”

She nodded, then she reached inside her pajama pocket.

She still had the tooth she’d hidden.

“Can the Tooth Fairy take this one?”

“Only if you want her to.”

“What about those?”

She glanced at the envelopes.

“Those don’t need to go anywhere.”

That seemed to surprise her.

“They can stay?”

“They belong to you.”

Emma smiled.

Just a little.

It was the first time since I’d gotten home that she hadn’t immediately covered her mouth.

Over the following few weeks, we had several dentist appointments.

Emma’s gums healed.

The dentist reassured us that her permanent teeth should grow normally, although we’d need to keep monitoring them.

The harder part was helping Emma smile again.

For a while, whenever I raised my phone, her lips immediately closed.

So I stopped telling her to smile.

If she wanted a photo, we took one.

If she didn’t, we didn’t.

Mark did the same.

Diane called.

Then she texted.

Then she sent a lengthy email explaining that she’d been raised to believe appearances mattered and that everything she’d done had come from love.

Mark answered with one sentence.

“Love doesn’t make a child’s ‘no’ disappear.”

After that, we quit arguing with her.

There was nothing more to argue about.

Three months later, Emma came racing into the kitchen holding something between two fingers.

“Mom!”

I turned around.

She was grinning.

There was another space in her mouth.

My heart jumped before I could stop it.

“What happened?”

“It fell out!”

She was laughing.

“All by itself!”

She held up the tiny tooth like she’d just won a trophy.

Mark walked in from the living room.

“What happened?”

Emma spun toward him.

“Look!”

She opened her mouth as wide as possible.

Mark looked at me.

Neither of us spoke for a second.

Then he smiled.

“That is one impressive gap.”

Emma laughed.

“Take a picture!”

So I did.

She stood in the center of the kitchen in mismatched socks, hair half falling from its ponytail, holding her tiny tooth beside her face.

And she smiled so widely I could see every crooked tooth and every space between them.

That night, Emma placed the tooth under her pillow.

The others remained in the blue box inside her closet because Emma wanted to keep them.

They belonged to her.

A few weeks later, I printed the photograph from that night and placed it inside a frame.

Emma decided where it went.

Right in the living room.

The first thing you see when you enter our front door is my daughter with messy hair, one missing tooth, and the biggest smile across her face.

For a while, I believed the worst thing Diane had done was remove teeth that weren’t ready to come out.

It wasn’t.

The worst thing was teaching a little girl that another person’s idea of pretty mattered more than her right to say no.

The teeth would grow back.

That lesson was what we had to pull out by the root.