Chapter 4: Quiet Sacrifices

The shop owner quickly found the right size and handed it over, saying, "This dress would look great on you!"

The owner’s words were warm and genuine. She smiled at Susan, encouraging her to give it a try.

With our encouragement, Susan finally smiled and headed for the fitting room.

I watched her disappear behind the curtain, my heart swelling. Sometimes, a little kindness goes a long way.

When Susan came out in the dress, the shop owner clapped in delight. "It fits like it was made just for you!"

Susan blushed, cheeks pink with happiness. She twirled once, the skirt fluttering. She looked ten years younger, her smile bright and real.

She stood in front of the mirror, hands clasped. "How is it?" she asked, nerves and hope mingling in her voice.

She stood in front of the mirror, waiting for my verdict. I could see the hope in her eyes.

I smiled and nodded. "You look wonderful, just as beautiful as ever."

Only then did Susan dare to really look at herself in the mirror. She turned this way and that, her smile growing brighter.

She smoothed the fabric over her hips, admiring herself. I could see her confidence growing with every glance.

I was about to pay for it when Rachel and Matt found us in the shop.

Their voices carried down the aisle—loud, impatient. They were loaded down with shopping bags from other stores.

Rachel and Matt both had arms full of high-end shopping bags. Rachel complained, "So tired, so tired. Mom, Dad! Why did you wander off and make us look for you? We’re done shopping, let’s go home."

Rachel’s tone was light but there was an edge. She tapped her foot, glancing at her phone.

Matt tugged at his shirt, muttering about the heat. He barely glanced at Susan, busy checking his watch.

Rachel did a double take, glancing around at the price tags, then at Susan in the dress.

I watched as Rachel’s eyes darted from Susan to the price tags. She seemed more worried about the cost than Susan’s happiness.

"Mom, you’re sixty. You don’t see women your age wearing stuff like this," she said, forcing a smile.

Susan’s smile faded. Her hands fluttered at her sides, and she looked to me for reassurance.

"What’s inappropriate? Or is it the price you don’t like?" I shot back, pointing at their shopping bags.

I couldn’t help myself. The hypocrisy was too much. I gestured at the designer bags they were hiding behind their backs.

"Or is it okay for you to spend money, but not us old folks?"

Rachel tucked the bags behind her back, her smile brittle, trying to change the subject.

"Dad, that’s not what I mean. I’m just being honest, don’t be upset. Mom, you’re sixty. You don’t see women your age wearing stuff like this. Even young people rarely wear it." She pointed outside, as if the world would back her up.

She gestured out the window, as if every woman passing by was proof she was right.

"Besides, Mom’s just at home cooking, doing laundry, watching Ethan. Comfortable clothes are more important—this is inconvenient, isn’t it?"

Rachel’s tone was practical, almost dismissive. She made it sound like Susan’s only job was to serve.

She stared at Susan a moment longer, muttering, "And with Mom’s short hair and a dress, it just looks odd."

"Do you not know why your mom cut her hair?" I burst out, unable to stay silent.

Susan had always worn her hair long, but after Ethan started pulling it and Rachel complained it hurt his hands, Susan cut it short. She never grew it long again.