She walked in with swollen eyes and twelve crumpled dollars. “My son’s wedding is in a few hours,” she whispered. “I don’t want to embarrass him.” I sat her down, curled her gray hair into soft waves, brushed shimmer on her lids, and pressed rose into her lips. When she saw the mirror, her smile trembled into light. She tried to pay, but I slid the money back. “Go enjoy your son.”
The next morning my salon overflowed with flowers. No note—just a card: Thank you for seeing me. Later, her son and new bride invited me to dinner. They confessed the flowers were from them, bought with wedding gift money. The woman’s name was Mirela. When she hugged me, she whispered, “You gave me back that day.”....