His Fake Poverty Killed Me

Summary

Our school play was next week. I leaned against the edge of the bed, whispering to Mom:

"The teacher said everyone needs to wear white patent leather shoes on stage."

"Mom, can I get a pair too?"

Mom looked down at her phone, but she still smiled at me.

"Of course, sweetie. Mom will take you tomorrow."

The next day, we went to the department store. I fell in love with a pair of white Mary Janes with little bows on the straps.

The saleslady said they were over two hundred dollars.

Mom held the shoebox, her smile fading into a sudden, heavy silence.