Iwalked into the boutique wearing sandals and a linen shirt, just browsing. I wasn’t expecting silk dresses, or sneers, or the man who would slap me and try to throw me out. But I really wasn’t expecting the call that would turn him pale.
It was one of those Iowa days when the sun not only shone, but squeezed you like a heavy comforter fresh out of the dryer.
The heat enveloped my neck and clung to the back of my knees, thick like syrup.
Even the pavement seemed to sigh under his weight.
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I put on my favorite linen shirt, soft and loose, and some baggy pants that breathed in the breeze, the little that there was.
On her feet, the same sandals she had worn for years.
They had accompanied me through the city center, through the farmers’ market, and once, foolishly, along a gravel path.
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The soles were worn, the straps a little frayed, but they were mine.
I didn’t feel like buying anything. I just needed air conditioning and something nice to look at.
My feet led me down the main street of the city as if they knew where to go better than I did.
That’s when I saw the sign: “Rose & Co.” It was gold and shiny, the kind of lettering that makes you stand up a little straighter as soon as you walk by.
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Like something you’d see in New York, not here.
I hesitated at the door; a place like this didn’t usually appeal to me.
But something about it—the coolness I imagined inside, the silence of expensive things—made me pull the handle and go in.
The air inside was like stepping into a different world.
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Fresh. Clean. It smelled of fresh citrus peel and wood shavings. Classy.
I took a deep breath and let the calm soak into my skin.
The shop was beautiful. The dresses floated gently on silver racks, like clouds waiting for the breeze.
The bags were perfectly arranged, as if they were judging each other.
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And the shoes – oh, the shoes – were lined up as if they had been trained to march.
I reached out to touch a dress. A green one, as deep as a pine tree in winter.
It felt like melted butter between my fingers, silk or satin, I couldn’t say, but it made me smile.
Then the voice came.
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“Hey! Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”
It was sharp, like a thorn stuck in my ear.
I turned around, startled. A man in a fitted navy vest with perfectly styled hair was walking toward me. The tag on his chest said Chase .
“What did you say?” I said, blinking.
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“Take your hands off the merchandise,” he barked.
And then, as if he were five years old and wanted to take something he shouldn’t have, he slapped my hand away.
I stared at him. “I’m a customer.”
“No, you’re not,” he said, moving closer.
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“You think I don’t know your type? You couldn’t even afford a sock in this place.”
The words hit harder than the heat outside. My chest rumbled.
“You all come here just to drool over things you’ll never have,” he added. “Next time, try dressing like someone who belongs where you’re going.”
I looked at my sandals. The same ones I wore to my father’s funeral.
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The same ones I wore when I signed the papers for my first apartment.
“What’s wrong with my shoes?”
He laughed, a short, cold laugh. “Nothing, if you go to a flea market. But not in this place.”
He took a step towards me as if he were going to push me.
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But I didn’t move.
“You don’t decide who should be here.”
The customers looked up. They were looking at us.
Chase paused. His smile twitched. He took a step back.
“Okay,” he said. “But don’t touch anything else. Just… watch.”
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I nodded once, firmly.
My hands were trembling. But I wasn’t going anywhere.
I continued walking through the store, pretending not to notice Chase’s eyes glued to my back like gum to a shoe.
I felt his gaze: burning, judging, as if he were waiting for me to make a false move so he could pounce on me.
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But I kept moving. Slowly. Deliberately.
And then I saw it: a soft lavender dress near the back of the store.
He was hanging there, as if he were waiting for me.
The color reminded me of the wildflowers on my grandmother’s porch. It felt familiar. Definitely.
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I took it off the coat rack, being careful not to touch anything else, and headed to the fitting rooms.
I left my bag on the bench outside, as the sign said, and went into the small space.
The lights were dim and the mirror was clean.
I slipped the dress over my head and let it fall into place.
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The fabric hugged my waist as if it knew me. As if it wanted me to see myself again, not as the weary woman on the street, but as someone enchanting.
Someone completes.
I turned from side to side, letting the dress catch the light. For a second, I forgot where I was.
Then I left.
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And Chase was waiting.
He blocked the exit like a wall with a navy blue vest.
“What do you have in your bag?” she snapped.
I blinked. “What did you say?”
“Your purse ,” she repeated. “Open it.”
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I froze. My heart skipped a beat. “There’s nothing there that concerns you.”
But she didn’t wait. Her hand shot forward and plunged into my purse. My breath caught in my throat.
He took out a small white box, the kind lined with tissue paper and a price tag that could feed someone for a week.
She held it up high. “Lace lingerie,” she said, loud enough for the whole store to hear. “The faces.”
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I opened my mouth, but no words came out.
“Thief!” he shouted. “Security!”
The air seemed to stop moving.
“I didn’t grab that,” I finally whispered.
She rolled her eyes. “Please. I knew you were trouble the moment you walked in. You can’t buy class, darling.”
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The guard appeared, a burly man with slow steps and squinty eyes. He stood beside me, arms crossed.
I looked at Chase. “Do you think I’d put something like that in my own bag? Out in the open?”
“You’re trembling,” he said, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Because they caught you.”
“No,” I said, my voice trembling. “Because this is crazy. I didn’t steal anything,” I said louder. “Call the police. Let’s do this the right way.”
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He smiled as if he had won. “With pleasure.”
And he left, already marking, already walking as if he owned the moment.
I sat down on the wooden bench near the door. My legs felt weak and my hands were wet.
And my heart? Loud enough to hear it through my chest.
But I didn’t cry.
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Not yet.
The agent who entered looked like he had spent too many afternoons in the sun.
Her skin was flushed on her cheeks and the back of her neck, and the corners of her lips were furrowed in a permanent frown.
I wasn’t in the mood for games.
Chase came running up like a dog that had finally caught the mailman. He pointed right at me.
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“There she is,” he barked. “Caught red-handed.”
The officer turned to me. His gaze was fixed. “Ma’am?”
I stood up slowly. My knees were still trembling. I held his gaze.
“I didn’t steal anything,” I said. “I think he put it there. I was in the fitting room. My purse was on the bench outside the whole time.”
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The agent raised an eyebrow, as calm as ever.
“Do you have cameras?” he asked the security guard who was nearby.
The guard nodded. “Yes, sir. We have it.”
“Okay. Let’s take a look,” said the agent, already walking.
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The guard followed him. Chase stayed behind, arms crossed and lips twisted into a smug little smile.
It seemed like he already had victory in the bag.
I sat down again.
The minutes dragged on.
Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. The store had fallen silent. Now I could hear Chase walking behind me.
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Her steps were no longer sure. They were uneven, quick, and then slow. Her shoes scraped the ground in sharp bursts.
Twenty minutes later the agent returned. His expression was different. Firmer. Colder.
Chase looked up. “Are you ready to handcuff her?”
The agent didn’t blink.
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“Actually,” he said, “we saw it, sir. On camera. Putting that box in her bag while she was changing.”
For a second, Chase stood still.
Then her face turned the same color as the mannequins: white, hollow, frozen.
The officer continued: “I could arrest him right now for false accusation and tampering with evidence…”
“Wait,” I said, getting up quickly. “Don’t do it.”
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Both men turned towards me.
“It was a misunderstanding,” I said, keeping my voice even. “I asked her to put it away. She must have thought the purse was mine and… dropped it inside.”
The agent looked at me.
“Are you sure?”
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I nodded. “For now.”
He shrugged. “It’s your decision,” and without another word, he turned and walked out the door.
Chase approached, his face red and stained.
“I… I’m sorry. I thought that…”
“Save it,” I said, interrupting him. “But I’ll be back. A lot.”
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She blinked. “Why?”
I gave him a strained smile.
“You’ll see.”
Two days later, I returned.
The same sandals. The same heat.
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Chase’s eyes widened when I walked in.
“Listen, I meant what I said. I’ll make it up to you. I really will.”
I smiled. “Good. You’ll have plenty of time.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
Her phone rang. She answered quickly.
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“Yes? Everything’s fine. I’m just helping the customers.”
He paused.
“The new owner? Today? What does she look like?”
There was a pause. Her face changed.
“Sandals?” she repeated, her voice barely a whisper.
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He looked at me. He really looked at me.
I crossed my arms and smiled. “Surprise.”
He didn’t speak for a moment.
His eyes rested on my feet and then slowly rose to meet mine.
“I didn’t know,” she finally said. “I swear I didn’t…”
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“I know,” I said quietly. “That’s the problem.”
He lowered his shoulders.
I moved a little closer.
“People like you think money dresses a certain way. That it speaks a certain way. That it walks in heels.”
He opened his mouth and then closed it.
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“But with class?” I asked him. “Class is how you treat people you think can’t do anything for you.”
He nodded slowly.
“I believe in second chances,” I added. “That’s why I’m not firing you. Yet.”
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He looked dazed.
“You have a lot to learn, Chase. But if you’re willing, so am I.”
She swallowed. “Thank you, ma’am.”
I winked at him.
“Oh, and I’m Callie. No, ma’am. And these sandals?” I smiled and turned to leave. “They’re staying.”
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