Today was just another day at the care facility, where I worked as a nail technician. The sun streamed through the large windows, casting a warm glow over the room filled with laughter and chatter. I was excited to meet my next resident, a woman named Margaret, who had recently moved in. As I set up my station, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation.
When Margaret settled into the chair, I noticed the weariness in her eyes, a hint of sadness that seemed to linger. I greeted her with a smile and asked her what color she wanted for her nails. As we flipped through the array of vibrant polishes, she paused and said, “I think I’ll just go with clear.”
“Clear? That’s no fun!” I exclaimed, my surprise evident. I couldn’t help but wonder why she would choose such a muted option when there were so many beautiful colors to choose from.
She looked down at her hands, her fingers trembling slightly as she traced the lines on her palms. “My hands are ugly,” she replied softly. “I don’t want to draw attention to them.”
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