She examined Melissa like a judge inspecting something unpleasant.
“You know,” she said sweetly, “there are families who could give her a real life. Maybe you should consider adoption.”
The gym suddenly went silent.
Melissa’s hand tightened around mine.
I felt my face grow hot.
The woman tilted her head and added with a small laugh,
“How pathetic.”
I was trying to think of something calm to say when her son tugged on her sleeve.
His name tag read Brian.
“Mom,” he said.
She waved him off.
“Not now.”
“But Mom,” he insisted, pointing at Melissa’s dress. “That dress looks just like the silk handkerchiefs Dad gives Miss Tammy when you’re not around.”
The entire room froze.
Brian continued innocently.
“He brings them in a box from the store near the mall. Miss Tammy says they’re her favorite.”
Parents exchanged stunned looks.
Brian’s mother slowly turned toward her husband. Her confident smile disappeared.
The man shifted uncomfortably.
“Brian,” he muttered. “Stop talking.”
But kids rarely stop once they start.
“Dad says not to tell you,” Brian added, “because it’s a surprise for Miss Tammy.”
Whispers rolled through the gym.
Brian’s father turned pale.
