Sixty-three Year Old Widow Refused to Hide Her Gray Hair at Work

are at your desk on Monday at two o’clock.”

The autumn sun was pale through the bedroom window. The closet door was open, showing the neat row of dresses I had worn to the office for thirty years.

My best navy suit hung in the center, the fabric stiff and clean from the dry cleaners. I brushed a speck of dust from the shoulder.

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