Whenever she approached an item, Vanessa found a reason to reject it.
The jeans were unnecessary.
The backpack was still usable.
The socks could wait.
When Nia finally found the white sneakers, she held them against her chest and followed Vanessa to the counter.
She thought her father had already approved them.
Then Vanessa looked at the box.
Her expression changed.
And the entire afternoon began falling apart.
Back at the checkout counter, the entire store seemed to have gone quiet.
Marcus stood holding the silver-heart necklace, barely aware of the shoppers looking toward him. His daughter's face was wet with tears, and the two younger children remained close together, watching their mother with a mixture of fear and determination.
Nia had just told him that Vanessa had taken something else.
He looked toward her.
"What else, sweetheart?"
Nia swallowed.
For several seconds, she seemed unable to force the words out.
Then she whispered, "Mom's birthday letters."
Marcus felt his stomach drop.
He knew exactly which letters she meant.
Before she died, Nia's mother had written a collection of sealed envelopes for her daughter, each labeled with a birthday she knew she might never see. The first had been opened when Nia turned nine. Another followed at ten, and another at eleven.
The letters weren't long.
They contained stories, encouragement, memories, and little pieces of advice for a child growing older without her mother.
Marcus remembered reading the first one beside Nia on her ninth birthday.
Her mother had written about how proud she was of the little girl learning to ride a bicycle, how much she loved Nia's drawings, and how she hoped her daughter would never mistake being quiet for having nothing important to say.
Nia cried.
Marcus cried too.
But afterward, they laughed about a silly story her mother had included.
Those letters became some of Nia's most treasured possessions.
Marcus had asked Vanessa to help Nia with the next one after their marriage because he believed his daughter might feel more comfortable opening it privately rather than having him watch her cry.
He thought Vanessa had done so.
Now he looked toward Nia.
"Did you get your letter this year?"
She shook her head.
His chest tightened.
"Nia, your birthday was three months ago."
"I know."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
She looked toward Vanessa.
Then lowered her eyes.
"She said Mom didn't write one for twelve."
For a moment, Marcus couldn't breathe.
He knew that wasn't true.
He had personally seen the envelope.
His late wife had written it shortly after Nia's eighth birthday, when she was still strong enough to sit at the kitchen table for several hours.