Blah, blah, blah.
Apparently, if I follow the math, counting back to the time we started dating, I’ll start feeling normal around the time the boys enter middle school.
Kelsey turns off the dryer, opens one of the foils, and then nods.
“Let's rinse you off now.”
Head back, I close my eyes while hot water washes out the dye.
Then come the scissors. “You’re sure about this?” Kelsey asks.
“Absolutely.” If Beckett can get a tattoo, I can cut my hair off.
The first cut is decisive and I feel the weight lift—literally—as wet hair slides down the cape.
One section gone. The nights alone, waiting for a car that never pulled into the driveway.
Another section. All my unanswered questions. The doubts about myself.
With each snip, my head feels lighter. Freer.
When she turns the chair toward the mirror, I blink.
Still blonde—but warmer. Richer. And the bangs—actual bangs—change the lines of my face. Make me look like someone who is finally making decisions.
“You’ve got a curl,” Kelsey says, smiling as she lifts a section near my jaw. “The length was weighing it down.”
I’ve always called it frizz. Fought it flat every morning.
She scrunches the ends, sprays something sweet-smelling, and steps back. “Encourage it while it dries.”
I nod, knowing full well I’ll never recreate this exact magic.
But when she’s done, I barely recognize the woman in the mirror—and that feels… right.
I smile. A real one.
Not bad for someone whose life is unraveling.
Not bad at all.
I find Luna in the next section of the salon, mahogany curls pinned up in a messy bun, tendrils tumbling free around her glowing face.
We see each other at the same time and both gasp.
“I love it!” we say in unison.
She jumps up. “You look amazing, Ash!”
“You look like a princess!”
And she does.
When she throws her arms around me, a lump rises in my throat.
Luna is about to begin her marriage. I’m ending mine.
I hug her back a little tighter. “You’re gonna knock Noah’s socks off,” I whisper.
