Chapter 1 - The Drawn Shoes
"Mommy, could I wear those for Christmas?"
My six-year-old daughter, Rosie, pressed her tiny, freezing fingers against the thick glass of the display case. Her massive brown eyes were sparkling as she stared at a pair of beautiful, glittering red shoes.
We were standing inside Bergman’s, the most magnificent, expensive luxury department store on Fifth Avenue.
I glanced at the small gold price tag resting next to the red shoes. Thirty-eight dollars.
To the wealthy shoppers bustling past us with their heavy designer bags, thirty-eight dollars was the cost of a quick lunch. To me, it was completely insurmountable. I earned exactly $148 a week before taxes, scrubbing pans and sweeping floors at Novak’s Bakery. After paying for our tiny apartment, cheap groceries, and the heating bill, I barely had enough money left to keep Rosie warm.
I knelt down beside her, forcing my voice to remain completely steady so she wouldn't hear my heart breaking.
"Not today, sweetheart," I whispered softly, gently stroking her hair. "Maybe someday."
Rosie didn't scream. She didn't throw a tantrum. She just looked at me, her eyes filled with a profound, heartbreaking understanding that a six-year-old should never have to possess.
"That's okay, Mommy," Rosie smiled warmly. "I can draw them instead."
She pulled a worn, dull pencil from her frayed coat pocket, flipped over an old, crumpled bus ticket, and began carefully sketching the beautiful red shoes right there against the glass.
May you like
I turned my face away before she could see the heavy tears welling in my eyes.
👉 I thought we were completely alone in our poverty, but I had absolutely no idea the most dangerous man in New York was standing just three feet behind us.
