Salon Manager
Anna sat on the edge of the clawfoot bathtub, her hands cradling her growing belly. She was 26, seven months pregnant, and lately her world had been a carousel of changes. Her once lean figure was now rounded with new life, her days punctuated by baby kicks and nursery preparations. But it wasn’t just her body or her priorities shifting—it was her sense of self.
She reached up, twisting a strand of her long, golden-brown hair around her fingers. Her hair had always been her trademark. It cascaded down her back, thick and shiny, falling in soft waves that framed her face like a halo. Strangers complimented it, friends envied it, and her husband, Tom, adored it.
But lately, it had started to feel like a burden.
The weight of it, the way it stuck to her neck during hormonal hot flashes, how long it took to wash and dry—it all felt overwhelming. And then there was something deeper, a whisper of change stirring inside her. She wanted to let go of something, to shed a layer of the old Anna and step into her new self.
“Maybe I’ll cut it,” she mused aloud one morning as Tom brewed coffee.
Tom turned, raising an eyebrow. “Your hair?”
“Yeah,” she said, her tone casual but her heart pounding. “Just… maybe a short bob or something. Something easy.”
He smiled faintly. “You’d look beautiful, no matter what.”
It wasn’t the enthusiastic support she’d hoped for, but it wasn’t a protest either. Tom was careful not to push his opinions too hard, especially now that her emotions ran as wild as the cravings that had her eating pickles with peanut butter at midnight.
Still, his lukewarm response gnawed at her. Was she ready to give up the hair that had been such a big part of her identity? Did she even want to? Or was this just another side effect of the hormonal whirlwind?
That afternoon, she made an appointment at her usual salon.
The stylist, a bubbly woman named Harper, greeted Anna with a warm smile. “Wow, Anna, your hair looks amazing! What are we doing today? Just a trim?”
Anna hesitated, fingers grazing the ends of her hair. “Actually… I was thinking of something shorter. Like, really short.”
Harper’s eyes widened. “Short-short? Like a pixie cut? Or just a bob?”
“Maybe a bob,” Anna said, though the thought of a pixie cut sent a strange thrill through her. “I’m just… tired of it, you know?”
Harper nodded knowingly. “Totally. Hair is emotional. Sometimes you just need a big change.”
Anna glanced at herself in the mirror, her long hair spilling over her shoulders like a cape. She imagined it gone—her neck exposed, her shoulders unburdened. But then she thought about Tom’s reaction, the compliments she’d gotten her whole life, and the way people said long hair was “feminine” and “soft.”
“I don’t know,” Anna admitted, her voice small.
Harper crouched beside her, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “It’s a big decision. You don’t have to rush it. But if you’re feeling ready for a change, trust that. You’re about to be a mom—sometimes stepping into a new phase means leaving the old stuff behind.”
Anna nodded, tears prickling her eyes. She blamed the hormones, but Harper’s words hit something deeper.
“Let’s start small,” Anna decided. “A lob. Something just above my shoulders.”
Harper smiled. “Deal. And if you love it, we can go even shorter next time.”
The scissors made their first snip, and Anna’s heart raced. Strands of her golden-brown hair fell to the floor, and with each cut, she felt lighter—not just physically, but emotionally, too. When Harper spun her around to face the mirror, Anna hardly recognized herself.
Her new cut was sleek and modern, brushing her collarbone. It framed her face in a way that felt fresh and liberating.
“What do you think?” Harper asked.
Anna touched the ends, a smile spreading across her face. “I love it.”
At home, Tom’s eyes widened when he saw her. “Wow. You look… amazing.”
“You mean it?”
“I do,” he said, pulling her close. “You’re still you—just a little different. But I like different.”
That night, as Anna lay in bed, she felt the baby kick and smiled. She didn’t regret her decision. In fact, she wondered if she’d go even shorter next time. After all, change wasn’t something to fear—it was something to embrace.
As she drifted off to sleep, she imagined herself months from now, cradling her baby in her arms, her hair short and free, and her heart full.
Anna stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, cradling her newborn son, Max, in her arms. His tiny face was pink and peaceful, his breaths soft and rhythmic as he napped against her shoulder. She gently kissed his downy head before laying him in the bassinet nearby, her own body aching from sleepless nights and endless feedings.
Her hair, once trimmed into a lob, now hung in tangled waves around her face, growing unruly with neglect. Her postpartum days were a blur of diapers and nursing, leaving little time for the meticulous care her hair demanded. The ends had lost their shine, and she was constantly pulling it into a messy bun to keep it out of Max’s grasping little fingers.
It was time, Anna decided. Time for a change—not just a trim, but a bold, transformative cut. A bob.
That afternoon, she booked an appointment at the salon. The thought of chopping off so much hair filled her with equal parts exhilaration and nerves, but she reminded herself how free she had felt after her last haircut. This time, she was ready to go even shorter.
When Anna arrived, Harper greeted her with the same warm smile as always.
“Back for more?” Harper teased, gesturing to the waves tumbling over Anna’s shoulders.
Anna smiled nervously. “I think I’m ready for a real bob. Chin-length, maybe shorter.”
Harper’s eyebrows rose, but she nodded with approval. “Now that’s a power move. Let’s do it.”
Anna sat in the chair, draping the cape around her shoulders. Harper ran her fingers through Anna’s hair, sectioning it with deft precision. “Okay,” Harper said, meeting Anna’s eyes in the mirror. “One last chance to back out.”
Anna took a deep breath. “Do it.”
The first snip was decisive, Harper’s scissors slicing through a thick section just below Anna’s jawline. The severed hair tumbled to the floor, and Anna’s stomach fluttered as she watched years of length disappear.
Harper worked methodically, sectioning off more hair and cutting clean, crisp lines. She used a razor to soften the edges near Anna’s face, creating a subtle taper that framed her cheekbones. The back was shorter, angling gently toward her chin for a sleek, modern shape.
The scissors moved with a rhythmic snip, snip, snip, and each cut felt like a small release—a weight lifted not just from her head, but from her mind.
“Let’s texturize it a bit,” Harper said, grabbing a thinning shear to add layers and movement. She worked at the ends, carving in delicate, feathery strokes that made the bob look effortless and chic.
As Harper dried and styled the cut, the shape truly came to life. She used a round brush to curl the ends inward, creating a polished, classic silhouette. Then she tousled it slightly with her fingers, adding a modern, relaxed vibe.
“All done,” Harper said, spinning the chair around.
Anna stared at herself in the mirror, her breath catching. The bob was perfect—sharp yet soft, stylish yet practical. Her neck was exposed, and the short length gave her face a lift, highlighting her eyes and the natural glow that motherhood had brought.
“It’s… amazing,” Anna said, running her fingers through the silky strands that just brushed her chin.
“You pull it off so well,” Harper said with a grin. “It’s chic, but still totally you.”
At home, Anna’s husband, Tom, froze mid-step when she walked through the door. “Whoa,” he said, his eyes widening. “You look incredible.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he said, leaning in to kiss her. “I love it.”
Later that evening, as Anna rocked Max to sleep, she caught her reflection in the window. The bob felt like a new beginning—a way of saying goodbye to the Anna she used to be and embracing the woman and mother she was becoming. It wasn’t just a haircut; it was a declaration of change, strength, and adaptability.
And for the first time in weeks, Anna felt completely at ease with herself.
