“Those look like they came with a warning label,” I said.
She turned them in her hands. “Good. I like my fashion like I like my politics—dangerous and sharp.”
Mom chose something more graceful. Pale silver with a low heel and subtle shimmer, perfect for dancing but still dignified.
“These feel like me,” she said softly.
I nodded. “They are.”
While they checked sizes, I wandered back toward the sage green dress, hunting for the perfect shoes to match.
I found them tucked low on the display wall—delicate flats in soft ivory satin, embroidered at the toe with tiny green and gold vines. No heel. No flash. Just beauty in the quietest form.
I held them up to the dress, and my chest tugged.
“Sabrina,” I murmured.
Michelle came up behind me and whistled. “Good eye. You’ve got the full loo
