Part 1 — The Red Dress
The first time my eight-year-old son, Noah, noticed the red dress, he stopped so abruptly in front of me that I nearly bumped into him.
“Mom, look.”
I followed his gaze toward the shop window.
A tiny red dress hung beneath the warm display lights. It had a wide skirt, a satin bow around the waist, and the sort of bright, cheerful color that seemed impossible to ignore.
Noah pressed closer to the glass.
“Lucy needs that dress.”
I smiled.
“Need it?”
He thought for a moment.
“Okay. Maybe she doesn’t need it. But she should have it.”
“She hasn’t even seen it.”
“She’d love it.”
I studied my son’s completely serious expression.
“And how exactly do you know that?”
He gave me the look children give adults when they believe we are being especially slow.
“Because she’d look like a princess.”
