The beauty salon was packed that day. As soon as one client left, another dropped into the chair. A few women were practically begging to be squeezed in without an appointment.
Kat, the receptionist, barely had time to answer everyone, send one person to the right stylist, and gently turn another away. It was the usual pre-holiday chaos. The next day was the long-awaited Mother’s Day weekend.
Women of every age wanted to look their best. The stylists worked steadily, scissors snipping, blow dryers humming. In between, the clients chatted away.
That day, besides the usual talk about trims and color, the conversation had shifted to family dinners and gifts. “I told my husband not to bring me another bouquet of tulips,” one woman said, foil in her hair. “I’m over it. What’s the point?”
“For that money, he could buy a decent frying pan,” she added. “A frying pan?” giggled Julie, one of the younger stylists. “No thanks. I’d rather have flowers.
They don’t last, sure, but they’re beautiful. It’s a holiday. You can buy cookware some other time.” “Honey,” said an older woman from the next chair, “good cookware is a fine gift.
And ‘some other time’ doesn’t always happen. My husband gave me a new Dutch oven for Christmas. I asked for it myself. Best gift I’ve had in years.
I’ve made pot roast my whole life, but in that thing? Comes out perfect every time.”
The conversation drifted naturally into favorite holiday dishes. Ham casserole and scalloped potatoes were clear front-runners. Anna listened in silence, her scissors moving with practiced speed.
Her client joined in eagerly. A couple of times she tried to pull Anna into the conversation, but Anna kept quiet. Mother’s Day weekend was supposed to be about appreciation, warmth, family.
Most of the women around her were looking forward to some kind of attention from the men in their lives. But Anna? She had no one to expect that from.
Maybe her son-in-law would call from out of town. Maybe the half-tipsy neighbor from down the hall would spot her in the stairwell and mutter, “Happy holiday.” Six months earlier, Anna had finalized her divorce and thrown her husband out. And the hurt still sat heavy in her chest.
They had been married nearly twenty-five years and were heading toward their silver anniversary. Their daughter was grown and married, and it had seemed like the hard part was behind them. But life had other ideas. When Anna finished with her last client, she cleaned her station and hurried out, even though the other women were staying late.
They were planning to split a bottle of sparkling wine, but Anna wasn’t in the mood. She stepped outside into the early evening, where the damp wind cut right through her light spring jacket. She pulled her knit cap low and tugged up her hood.
Too soon for the lighter coat, she thought. She hurried to the bus stop, hoping her bus would come soon. Standing out there much longer was going to be miserable. And as if someone had heard her, it did.
Less than a minute later, the right bus pulled up, with exactly one seat left. Anna climbed aboard, sat down, rested her forehead against the cold window, and drifted into thoughts of the past. Lately, that was where her mind went more often than not.
She felt, more and more, that life had somehow passed her by. It hurt that she had never become the professional she once dreamed of being. It hurt that she had chosen the wrong man. And it hurt most of all that there was no fixing any of it now.
The one thing that still warmed her heart was her daughter, Polly—smart, kind, and beautiful. Once upon a time, Anna had truly believed her life would turn out better than most. As a child, she had been adored by both her mother and grandmother.
She grew up wrapped in love and care. Her mother worked as a nurse at a local clinic, and her grandmother had built a respected career in education. She had spent years running a preschool program and was well known in town.
Little Anna first wanted to be a teacher, like her grandmother. Then one day she visited her mother at work and decided she would become a doctor. Maybe she would have, too, if life hadn’t taken such a hard turn.
Her grandmother died suddenly when Anna was in ninth grade. Then her mother was killed just as Anna was finishing high school. A drunk driver hit her in a crosswalk.
And just like that, Anna was alone in the world. She had never known her father. Her mother had never spoken about him. Anna always assumed there would be time, later, for an honest conversation. There wasn’t.
After all that grief, medical school was the last thing on her mind. She barely got through graduation and missed the application deadlines. By the time the fog lifted a little, she understood one thing: she had to work and keep going.
She started out washing dishes, then managed to finish cosmetology training and began helping other people feel beautiful. Her childhood dream of becoming a doctor quietly slipped away.
She met her future husband by chance when she was nineteen….
