She walked into my salon at sunrise, clutching twelve crumpled dollars — her hands shaking, her voice breaking. “My son’s wedding is today,” she whispered, “and I don’t want to embarrass him.” I could see the exhaustion in her eyes, the years of sacrifice etched into her face. Without a word, I sat her down and promised, “Let’s make you feel like a queen.” As I styled her hair and brushed soft color into her cheeks, something shifted — the sadness gave way to quiet strength. When she looked in the mirror, tears fell. “I look like me again,” she said.
Continues…
