That weekend, Mia went to a hair salon.
"Cut it short," she said, pointing to her earlobes.
The stylist held up the scissors. "It goes all the way down your back. You sure you want to cut that much?"
"I'm sure."
Snip.
A thick bundle of hair fell to the floor. After it was blown dry, she shook her head in front of the mirror. It felt lighter.
That afternoon, she signed up for a baking class near the office. The first chiffon cake she made sank in the middle. The second one burned on the bottom. The third one finally rose the way it was supposed to. She wrapped it in plastic wrap, brought it to the office on Monday, and sliced it in the break room to share with her coworkers.
"You never used to do stuff like this," one of them said.
"Never had time before," Mia said.
By mid-May, she
