SHE GAVE HIS DAUGHTER’S DOG AWAY — THEN BOUGHT HER KIDS A NEW PUPPY

I held the shoebox against my chest while Vanessa paid for everyone else’s clothes.

My old sneakers had split at the toes. Every step made the loose sole flap against the department store floor. I had spent the whole summer pushing it back into place with my fingers.

The canvas shoes in the box were the cheapest pair I could find.

I had almost let myself feel excited.

Leo stood beside the register with two new pairs of shoes. His little sister, Maya, had a pink jacket she kept rubbing against her cheek. Their shopping bags crowded the floor around them.

I had a plain backpack.

Vanessa saw me looking at the shoebox and held out her hand.

“Give me those.”

I tightened my grip. “They fit.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

She took the box and set it behind the register, away from our other things.

I looked down at my feet. “The bottom of mine is coming off.”

“Then use glue.”

The cashier glanced at my shoes, then quickly looked away.

Heat climbed up my neck.

Leo shifted beside me. He was nine, three years younger than me, but he understood what had just happened.

“Mom, I got two pairs,” he said. “Nia can have hers.”

Vanessa’s smile disappeared.

“Leo. Enough.”

He stared at the floor.

I wanted to tell him it was okay. He had tried, and I knew what trying could cost in our house. But if I spoke, Vanessa might take the backpack too.

Then I heard my father’s voice.

“What’s going on?”

I turned.

Dad had just come from work, still wearing his brown suit and dark tie. His dreadlocks brushed the shoulders of his jacket. Usually, the moment he found me in a crowd, his face softened.

This time, he looked from Leo’s bags to Maya’s, then to my hands.

“Why doesn’t Nia have anything?”

Vanessa reached for his platinum card.

“She has a backpack. She didn’t need much.”

Dad didn’t answer her. He looked at me.

I hid my right foot behind my left.

His eyes followed the movement.

“Nia?”

I hated that I couldn’t make myself speak. I was twelve. I could answer questions at school without shaking. At home, I had learned to measure every word first.

Vanessa handed the card to the cashier.

“We’re holding up the line.”

Dad stepped beside me. “Show me your shoes.”

“It’s fine.”

“Nia.”

I lifted my right foot.

The sole hung open beneath it.

His face changed. He picked up the canvas shoes from the counter.

“These were hers?”

“She picked them up,” Vanessa said. “That doesn’t mean she needs them.”

Dad stared at her. “She needs shoes.”

“We can discuss it later.”

Leo made a small sound. Vanessa shot him a look, and he went still.

Dad noticed that too.

I wished he had come sooner. I wished he had come last week, when I asked Vanessa about the school supplies. I wished he had been there the morning I found my bedroom closet empty.

But he was here now, holding the shoes, and I was frightened of what would happen after we went home.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

Vanessa gave a short laugh. “Marcus, you’re making this sound cruel. I told her your card was for the children’s school shopping. Her backpack is right there.”

I looked up before I could stop myself.

Dad turned toward her. “Nia is my child.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“It’s what she heard.”

The cashier lowered her eyes. Someone behind us moved to another line.

Dad offered me the shoebox. “Take them, sweetheart.”

I reached for it, but my hand stopped halfway.

Two weeks earlier, I had asked Vanessa where my mother’s blue scarf was. She had told me I remembered wrong. Three days after that, the little silver bracelet disappeared. By yesterday, even the wooden box Mom had painted for me was gone.

I had said nothing because Vanessa told me Dad had given her permission.

Now he was looking at me as if he knew nothing at all.

“Dad,” I whispered, “this isn’t only about shoes.”

Vanessa stepped toward us.

“Nia. Stop.”

I flinched. I couldn’t help it.

Dad lowered the box.

I watched him notice the way my shoulders had pulled up toward my ears.

“Nia,” he said gently, “tell me.”

Vanessa moved closer. “She’s upset because I said no. Don’t encourage this.”

“She’s talking to me.”

For a moment, I could hear nothing but the register scanning Leo’s shirts.

I remembered Mom sitting on the edge of my bed, fastening that bracelet around my wrist. She had been sick, but she smiled when I asked why she was giving it to me so early.

“So you’ll have something to hold when I can’t hold your hand,” she’d said.

I had been eight. I still remembered every word.

I looked at Dad.

“Ask Vanessa what happened to the things Mom left for me.”

His hand went still around the shoebox.