As Marissa stepped into the bridal salon, a wave of excitement mixed with nervous energy washed over her. At 55, confident in her Hispanic heritage, she knew she wasn’t the stereotypical bride people often imagined—but that didn’t matter. This was her day, her moment, and nothing would spoil it.
The salon was as breathtaking as she’d hoped—polished marble floors, sparkling chandeliers, and rows of exquisite gowns. Everything was just as stunning as it appeared online, and Marissa was ready to find a dress that made her feel like royalty.
However, the atmosphere shifted as soon as she walked in.
Two saleswomen, dressed in sleek black uniforms, glanced at her and exchanged judgmental looks. It was clear they didn’t think she belonged in such a high-end shop. Undeterred, Marissa straightened her shoulders and approached a row of gowns, her excitement still intact.
One of the saleswomen, a tall blonde with a forced smile, approached. “Can I help you?” she asked, her tone laced with fake politeness.
Marissa nodded, maintaining her calm. “Yes, I’m looking to try on some dresses. I love lace, but I’m open to suggestions.”
The blonde raised an eyebrow, as if Marissa had said something absurd. “These gowns are very delicate,” she replied slowly. “You should be careful not to touch them too much… with your hands.”
Marissa blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “My hands?” she repeated, glancing at her perfectly clean, well-manicured fingers—hands that had worked hard but were nothing to be ashamed of.
The saleswoman smiled thinly. “These dresses are very expensive. Perhaps you’d prefer something more… affordable.”
Before Marissa could respond, the second saleswoman, a brunette with a too-tight ponytail, added, “Yes, we have a clearance section in the back. It’s a bit more… budget-friendly.”
Marissa clenched her jaw but stayed composed. She wasn’t about to let these narrow-minded women ruin her day. “Actually,” she said, pointing to a stunning lace gown on display, “I’d like to try that one.”
The blonde’s smirk returned. “That dress is over $10,000,” she said condescendingly. “It might be a bit… out of reach for you.”
Marissa smiled, refusing to show any sign of being ruffled. She knew they had dismissed her the moment she walked in, assuming she couldn’t afford anything in the shop.
But they were in for a surprise.
Just then, John, the store manager, stepped out from the back. Dressed sharply in a tailored suit, he immediately sensed the tension in the room.
“Is there a problem here?” he asked, his voice cutting through the air.
Before Marissa could speak, the blonde saleswoman jumped in, trying to cover her tracks. “Oh, no problem at all, John! Just being cautious. This lady was looking at some of our more expensive dresses, and we wanted to make sure everything was handled properly.”
John’s expression darkened as he turned to the saleswomen. “This lady,” he said, his voice tight with anger, “is Ms. Morales, soon-to-be Mrs. Shepherd. She’s the new co-owner of this salon.”
The color drained from the saleswomen’s faces.
“Wait… what?” the blonde stammered. “I thought Mr. Thomas was the owner?”
