She came into my salon just after sunrise, her hands trembling, her eyes red from tears. I was sweeping the floor, half-listening to the hum of the blow dryer in the back, when I noticed her standing by the door. She clutched a worn purse to her chest and looked like she’d been carrying the weight of the world.
“Can I help you?” I asked, setting down the broom.
Her voice was barely a whisper. “My son’s wedding is in a few hours,” she said. “I… I don’t want to embarrass him.”
She pulled a few crumpled bills from her bag — twelve dollars in all. “This is all I have,” she added quickly, her cheeks flushing with shame.
Continued on next page//
