A Husband's Prescription

On our tenth wedding anniversary, I made a special trip to the salon to have my hair done.

While settling the bill, I noticed an extra charge on my account. It was a coloring and perm package.

Judging by the price, it was a package meant for waist-length hair. Mine had been cropped short for seven or eight years.

I called my husband, Jason Moore.

"Have you used my salon membership card recently?"

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before he laughed lightly, "Oh, I lent it to Quincy a few days ago."

Quincy Hahn was his business partner, a fine arts student with long hair. She treasured her natural curls more than anything. She would never be willing to dye or perm it.

More importantly, her elder sister was a major shareholder of this salon. Why would she ever need to use my card?

I said nothing more and ended the call.

Then, I headed straight to a location displayed on my phone.

In the cafe, a long-haired lady was nestled in Jason's arms. Her freshly permed curls were soft and bouncy, framing her blushed face with certain demureness.

Jason had always complained that my short hair made me look rough and manly. I lacked gentleness and charm.

It seemed this long-haired lady suited his tastes perfectly.

As the lady went to the restroom, I followed along.

I went over to the sink next to her, washing my hands. I could still smell the perm chemical wafting from her head.

It was her.

Our eyes met through the mirror. I could see the fluster in her eyes, and she subconsciously washed her hands more quickly.

Just when she was about to leave, I called out after her and asked with a smile, "Do you work here in the cafe?"

She stiffened and clenched her fists subconsciously, before replying in a slightly trembling voice, "Yes. I work here part-time after classes."

I secretly sneered. A mere question had made her so nervous. I wonder who gave her the courage to be someone's secret lover.

I swept a glance at her hair and asked distractedly, "Don't be nervous. I just find your hair pretty. You must've just gotten it done, right? Care to recommend the place?"

Her face paled even more. She lowered her head and muttered, "My boyfriend likes the way I look with curls, so he brought me there. I didn't really pay attention to the shop name."

She paused for a while before looking at my hair. "Your hair's short. Perming it like mine won't suit you. It'll make you seem older."

Perfect.

Playing the victim while still finding time to insult me, subtly advertising her youth and beauty along the way. She could not resist provoking me even at that moment.

It was too bad that it had no effect on me.

I reached out and touched a curl resting on her shoulder.

"How long have you been growing your hair out?"

She was so frightened that she stumbled backward.

"About three years or so."

My heart stung a little when I heard the answer.

Three years ago was a turning point in my career. My self-founded coffee brand had just secured the top regional sales spot. I was constantly travelling back and forth to the production area in South Columbus.

If I was not on a business trip, I was on the way to one.

However, as long as we were in the same city, Jason Moore, my husband, would meticulously arrange dates for us, making me feel touched yet guilty.

I asked him once if he would blame me for putting my career first.

He replied with a smile, "Just go ahead creating history. I have your back."

I knew juggling a career and family was not at all easy. I had always felt guilty about it.

However, at that moment, I finally understood that all the guilt I had was just a joke. He was never sacrificing himself.

I composed myself and massaged my temples, trying to hide the emotions in my eyes.

I accidentally noticed the necklace around her neck.

I snickered and said with amazement, "Your necklace is gorgeous. It's one of Ian Christie's works, right? Must be expensive."

The necklace was way too familiar to me. It was a coming-of-age gift from my mother, a masterpiece from the independent jeweller, Ian Christie.

It was also a gift for me when I won the barista championship.

It went missing when we moved, and I was sad about it for a very long time.