Archie
I noticed the shoes almost by accident.
Thea was reaching for a stack of plates on the top shelf of the pantry, standing slightly on her toes, and I happened to glance down while I waited to ask her something about the week's schedule. The soles of her shoes were worn thin at the heel, the leather cracked along the side, the kind of wear that comes from years of use rather than weeks. One of the seams near her toe had started to separate slightly, held together with what looked like a careful line of stitching done by hand rather than a shoemaker.
I didn't say anything in the moment. It wasn't my place to comment on something so small, and I imagined she'd feel embarrassed if I drew attention to it directly. But the image stayed with me for the rest of the day, oddly persistent,
