“The hardest part about leaving the life isn’t the money. It’s the muscle memory.”


The smell hit me first—acrylic, acetone, and coconut oil. Dee’s salon was bright, clean, and loud in a comforting way. Women laughed over dryers, gossip floated like incense, and the bass from the Bluetooth speaker thumped like a heartbeat that hadn’t been broken yet.


It felt like another world.


“Damn, Nell,” Dee said, arms wide as she walked toward me, her locs wrapped in a gold scarf. “Didn’t think you’d actually show.”


“Neither did I.”


She hugged me like we hadn’t both been through hell—like we were still just girls playing with polish and dreaming of something better.


Dee led me to the back room. One empty nail station, a rolling cart, some half-used supplies, and a wall mirror covered in sticky notes.


“You got this.”

“Breathe.”

“You’re not your past.”


“It's yours,” she said. “Rent’s low. You build your clients, I’ll cover supplies for now. You ready?”


I wasn’t. But I nodded anyway.


The first week was slow. Just walk-ins. A couple of full sets. A gel fill for a sweet girl who tipped five dollars and said she liked my energy.


Every time I sat down with a new client, I could feel the ghost of my old self watching from the mirror. She didn’t say much, but her silence was heavy.


I kept working. Hands steady. Smile polite. Voice soft but firm.


Then he texted.


A client I hadn’t seen in months. One I thought I’d blocked for good.


"Got 1k for the night. No rules. You down?"


I stared at the screen. My thumb hovered over the block button.


But 1k? That was three months’ booth rent. That was supplies. That was a safety net.


My hand trembled as I texted back:


One hour. You meet me at my spot. You follow my rules or you walk.


I didn’t want to do it. But survival makes monsters of us all sometimes.


He showed up exactly on time.


Big guy. Smooth talker. Smile too wide. The kind who thought money erased decency.


“You look good,” he said, walking in like he owned the space.


I kept my back straight, blade tucked in my sleeve, phone recording audio just in case. “Money first.”


He handed over the envelope, tried to kiss my cheek.


“No touching,” I reminded him, stepping back.


Fifteen minutes in, he started testing me. Tried to pin my wrists. Called me a tease. Told me he didn’t pay to be told no.


That’s when I snapped.


I shoved him off, grabbed the blade, and pressed it to his neck.


“You touch me again, I swear to God, they’ll be peeling you off this floor.”


He froze.


I stepped back, breathing hard. “You got five seconds to get out.”


He grabbed his jacket and bolted.


I locked the door behind him, my hands shaking so bad I couldn’t hold the blade steady anymore.


That night, I didn’t sleep. I sat in the kitchen with a glass of wine and the red notebook in my lap.


I crossed something off.


Step 1: Save $5,000. ✅

Current balance: $5,160.


But I added something, too.


Step 5: Never sell my soul for survival again.


Because that night taught me something more valuable than cash.


Boundaries weren’t just lines you set with others. They were promises you kept to yourself.