Somewhere behind me, a child shouted for his father.
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The world kept moving while mine narrowed to one cream-colored bag.
The woman looked down at my hand on her arm.
I let go.
« I’m sorry, » I said. « I shouldn’t have grabbed you. »
She stepped back.
Her expression had changed from irritation to concern.
« You said you made this? »
« Yes. »
She glanced at the bag.
I pointed toward the bottom.
« There’s a mistake in the stitching. Right there. »
Her eyes followed my finger.
She turned the bag slightly.
The crooked row was still there.
« I made that mistake in my kitchen, » I told her. « I tried to fix it and made it worse. »
She looked at me again.
« Who was your daughter? »
My throat tightened.
« Gia. »
The woman went still.
It was small.
Most people would not have noticed it.
I did.
