She walked in with swollen eyes and twelve crumpled dollars—ten and two ones clenched in her hand.
Her cardigan was worn, her shoes tired, but her gaze was steady. I set the money aside and pulled out a chair.
“You won’t embarrass anyone,” I said. “Sit. Let me take care of you.”
I curled soft waves into her gray hair, shaped her brows, brushed on the gentlest shimmer, and pressed a rose tint into her lips. When I turned her toward the mirror, her mouth trembled.
“Please don’t let me be invisible today,” she’d said when we began.
Now she smiled like the sun had found her again.
She tried to leave the twelve dollars on my counter. I slid it back.
“Go enjoy your son.”
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