Ben arrived carrying the cardigan Nora had left over their kitchen chair.
It was such an ordinary thing to bring that she nearly cried harder.
He placed it around her shoulders after Tessa helped remove the cape. Then he looked at her hair.
His expression flickered.
Nora saw it.
“It’s bad.”
“It’s uneven.”
“You don’t have to pretend.”
“I’m not pretending.”
He crouched in front of her.
“I’m angry that someone ignored you. That’s different from thinking you look bad.”
She pressed the tissue against her eyes.
“She said you should love me anyway.”
Ben glanced toward the staff room.
“I loved you before the appointment. I love you now. None of that gave her permission.”
Nora nodded, but she could not stop thinking about the comb.
Her mother had worn it at her own wedding. After she died, Nora had kept it wrapped in tissue inside a drawer, taking it out only occasionally.
For years, the idea of wearing it had felt distant.
Tomorrow, she was finally supposed to.
“I wanted Mum’s comb in the braid.”
Ben took her hand.
“We’ll ask what’s possible.”
Marissa returned with another stylist, Ana, who had been working at the back of the salon.
Ana did not touch Nora’s hair immediately.
“May I look closely?”
Nora nodded.
Ana examined the cut section, then stepped back.
“I can’t put the original hair back. I don’t want to promise something that won’t happen.”
Nora swallowed.
“What can you do?”
“We have options. We can preserve the rest of the length and use a different arrangement tomorrow. Some discreet pieces may help with the shorter side. Or we can cut everything shorter, but that would be another major decision.”
“Don’t cut more.”
“Then we won’t.”
The simplicity of that answer startled her.
Ana brought a practice comb and demonstrated how a low, loose arrangement could hold the longer hair while tucking the short section carefully.
“It won’t be the photograph,” she said. “But it can still hold your mother’s comb.”
Nora looked at herself.
For the first time since the lock had fallen, she could imagine tomorrow again.
