She came in with swollen eyes and crumpled bills. “My son’s wedding is in a few hours,” she whispered. “I have twelve dollars. I don’t want to embarrass him.” Her cardigan was worn, her shoes tired, but her gaze was steady. I set the money aside and invited her to sit. “You won’t embarrass anyone,” I said. I curled soft waves into her gray hair, shaped her brows, added a gentle shimmer, and pressed a rose tint to her lips. When I spun her toward the mirror, she smiled for the first time in years.
The next morning, I opened the salon to find flowers everywhere—tulips, roses, lilies, baby’s breath—with a small card: “Thank you for seeing me.” Later, the hotel called: the groom and his wife wanted me at a small dinner. They’d pooled their wedding gifts to send the flowers.
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