“I know. Please. Make her feel special.”
She finally agreed, tears streaming down her face as she whispered, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
The next morning, as I was packing my daughter’s lunch, I heard a loud knock on the door.
I opened it… and just FROZE.
There stood THE SAME WOMAN from the flea market—but now in a pressed coat, with sleek hair, and next to her was the girl holding a bag with a shiny box inside.
The woman smiled. “Good afternoon. I know I’m probably distracting you, but can I TELL YOU SOMETHING?
