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the fluorescent lights of the store buzzed softly over rows of sneakers and boxy displays.
paris sat on a low wooden bench, kicking her heels against the base as she tugged at the strap of a bright red shoe.
"those are too small," michael said, shifting a shoe box under his arm.
"they fit," she said, not looking up.
"you said that about the last ones, and your toes were touching the front."
a quiet chuckle came from behind the rack of high-tops. "she takes after you. stubborn."
michael turned, looking over the top shelf. you were holding a white suede sneaker, checking the flexibility of the arch with your thumbs. hair pinned back out of your face, a few loose strands falling down your neck.
"i'm not stubborn.”
"you didn't used to be," you replied, stepping around the display to stand in his aisle. "you just got set in your ways, applehead."
the name hung between you two for a second, light and worn smooth by time.
"i picked my battles," he said. "there's a difference."
“sure." you tilted your head toward the box under his arm. "what size did you get?"
"a three. she keeps growing."
"tell me about it," you said, leaning back against the metal shelving.
"she likes the red ones," michael said, nodding down at paris, who was currently trying to force her heel into the leather.
"they always pick the brightly-colored ones," you sighed. “i tried to get her to look at these plain ones, but she walked right past them."
"you still pick the worst colors."
you gave him a quick look, eyes crinkling at the corners. "white goes with everything."
"white is boring."
"it's easy to pair with."
"it's still boring."
you laughed, low and easy. for a few long seconds, the wide room seemed to narrow down to just the space between the two of you.
"you still forget to eat when you're busy?" michael asked, looking down at the box in his hands.
"sometimes," you admitted. "somebody usually reminds me."
"good." he paused, adjusting his grip on the cardboard edge.
footsteps clicked quickly on the tile floor at the end of the aisle.
"mom?"
a young girl walked up, holding a shoebox against her chest.
"what did he say?" you asked her, turning slightly.
"he said the seven is fine for the gift, but he thinks we should grab these for me too,” the girl said, shifting the box.
you took the box from her hands, checking the label. "see? i told you we'd find the right size."
you knelt on the floor, pulling the new shoe out to check the toe box against your daughter's foot. the girl looked up at michael, giving him a brief, polite nod before looking back down at you.
she had your eyes. and the exact same slight dimple on her left chin when she pulled her mouth to the side.
michael stopped moving.
he looked down at you kneeling on the floor, softly squeezing your daughter’ hand.
"these fit way better, baby," you said, resting your other hand on her ankle.
as you reached up to take the lid from her, the overhead light caught the plain gold band on your left ring finger.
the air left his lungs all at once.
"good," your daughter said, taking a small step back. "dad's waiting outside by the bench."
"okay," you said softly, standing up and smoothing down your pants. you turned back to michael. "we have to go before the traffic gets bad."
"yeah," michael said. the word came out dry. "yeah, go ahead."
"it was really good to see you," you said, stepping closer to lay a gentle hand on his arm for just one second. "take care of yourself, okay?"
"you too."
"bye, sweetheart," you said softly, giving paris a little wave.
she beamed, looking up from the floor. "bye-bye!"
"bye!" your daughter added with a wide smile, turning toward the front entrance.
michael didn't move. he stood by the rack, watching the two of you pay at the counter and then walk toward the glass doors at the front of the shop.
through the clear window, he saw a man standing by the outdoor wooden bench, holding a couple of shopping bags. as you walked out, the man stepped forward, taking the new shopping bag from your daughter's hands and placing a hand against the small of your back. you leaned into the touch without looking, saying something that made him smile as the three of you started walking down the brightly lit corridor.
you looked completely at peace.
michael remembered late nights years ago in a dark bedroom, listening to you whisper about how terrified you were of where life would lead. you used to hold onto him, scared of getting older, scared of building a life that felt empty or wrong. back then, you had looked at him like he was the only thing holding you steady.
but now, you weren't afraid anymore. you had built a whole world without him, simple and whole.
he looked down at paris, who was standing on the bench, looking at her reflection in the low mirror.
he looked back out the window, but the crowd had swallowed you up.
a sudden ache settled deep in his chest. he thought about the girl's face—the eyes, the smile, the way she stood. he thought about the life that didn't happen, the path that had split years ago, and the child that could have had those exact same eyes if time had stayed on their side.
he wondered whose voice she would have carried. he wondered what it would feel like to walk out those doors carrying the bags, reaching for your hand as the day ended.
it wasn't that he wanted a different life. not at all.
he looked back down at paris, at her messy hair and the bright red shoes she was so proud of, and felt that fiercely protective warmth fill his chest. his kids were his whole heart. his whole life. he wouldn't trade a single second of their existence for anything in this world.
but seeing you again had quietly unearthed a door he thought he’d locked shut years ago. the old ‘what ifs’ that had been buried deep under years of living had suddenly slipped back into the light.
"daddy?" paris asked, tugging on his sleeve. "can we get them?"
michael swallowed hard, pushing the air back into his chest. he dropped down on one knee in front of his daughter, pulling the red laces tight and tying them into a neat double knot.
"yeah, sweet pea," he whispered, keeping his head down as he smoothed down the front of her collar. "we can get them."