“How much?” I asked the vendor, an elderly woman wrapped in a worn, patterned scarf.
“Six dollars,” she answered.
My stomach dropped. “I only have five.”
She studied me for a moment, her eyes softening. Then she nodded. “Five is enough. No little one should go without warm feet.”
That kindness nearly broke me. I thanked her with tears slipping down my cheeks and held the shoes like they were priceless.
Later that day, I helped Stan pull them on. He giggled as I tugged them into place. They fit perfectly.
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