One early morning, a trembling woman stepped into my salon, clutching a frayed purse, her eyes swollen from crying.
In a voice barely above a whisper, she said her son was getting married in just a few hours—and all she had was twelve dollars. There was something in her quiet desperation that pierced me deeply; her face carried the weight of years of worry, and her hands told stories of hard labor and sacrifice.
Without a second thought, I guided her to a chair and said gently, “Let’s make you feel like a queen today.” I wanted to give her more than a hairstyle—I wanted to give her back a bit of the dignity life had taken from her.
As I curled her silver hair and brushed soft color onto her tired face, she spoke of her late husband, the man who used to remind her how beautiful she was. …
Continue reading on the next page >>>
