The motor shuddered hard against my palm as I raised the blade to my right temple and pressed the flat metal guard flush to my skin.

I worked in steady, straight strokes from my front hairline back to the nape, watching the heavy black strands drop into the porcelain sink like snipped thread.

Once the top was smooth, I tipped my head to the left and ran the blade over the curve above my ear until the skin was bare and cool to the touch.

The drone of the clippers filled the small tiled room, drowning out the sound of Daniel knocking twice on the solid oak panel.

“Mariana?” Daniel called through the wood, his voice climbing a little.