The chair remembers more than you do

I just finished a cut for a woman who’s been coming in for twelve years. She didn’t say much, but when she stood up, I noticed her hands were shaking—just slightly—and she looked at the mirror like she was seeing someone else. The chair’s leather is cracked now, worn down at the edges where people rest their elbows. It’s not just a chair. It holds all the quiet things people don’t say while they’re sitting there. Today, I felt it too.