The salon had barely opened its doors for the day when the bell above the entrance chimed and a woman stepped inside. Her eyes were swollen and red, her cheeks streaked with tears. She clutched a small purse to her chest like it held her last bit of dignity. When I approached and asked if she was all right, she hesitated before speaking in a trembling voice.
“My son is getting married this afternoon,” she whispered. “I only have twelve dollars to my name, but I don’t want to embarrass him with how I look.”
The words hung heavy in the quiet room. She wasn’t just asking for a haircut; she was pleading for the chance to show up for her son’s wedding with pride. In that moment, I didn’t just see a walk-in customer. I saw a mother, vulnerable and desperate, who wanted nothing more than to stand beside her child on one of the most important days of his life without shame weighing her down.
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