Chapter 5: The Public Test

After confirming my relationship with Sharon, we started seeing each other more often. We took walks around the block, sat on her porch with lemonade, and talked about everything from classic movies to what made a perfect burger. The neighbors noticed, of course, but for once, the whispers were kind.

As a man, since we were together, I had to show my intentions. I wanted to treat her right—no more half-measures or hidden feelings. I wanted the world to know I was proud to be with Sharon.

So, when I had free time, I took Sharon to the department store, wanting to buy her some clothes. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, and the scent of new leather mixed with the sugary tang of cinnamon pretzels from the mall kiosk. The store smelled like fresh laundry and new shoes. The racks were filled with spring dresses, shiny belts, and hats that nobody wore except for church.

The salesgirl smiled politely: "Folks, what would you like to buy?" Her accent was pure Midwest, and her hair was teased up high. She gave us that look—half curious, half hopeful—like she wanted us to buy the best in the store.

I bowed slightly to Sharon: "Ma’am, what would you like? Just say the word." I tried to be chivalrous, but it came out corny. Sharon giggled, her cheeks pink. I felt ten years younger just seeing her smile.

Sharon burst out laughing, pointed at a pair of black leather shoes, and said to the salesgirl, "Let me see those men’s leather shoes."

I blinked, surprised. She always put others first. I realized, maybe for the first time, someone was looking out for me.

That really moved me. I was nearly thirty, still a bachelor, wearing sandals in summer and boots in winter—never had leather shoes. My old boots had holes in the soles. The thought of a real pair of shoes felt almost extravagant. I didn’t know what to say.

"What’s wrong? Take off your shoes." Before I knew it, Sharon was already squatting down, holding the new shoe. Her fingers brushed my ankle, warm and sure, and for a moment, the world shrank to just the two of us. She slipped it on my foot with gentle hands, her touch warm and steady. The fit was perfect—like they’d been waiting for me all along.

It fit perfectly. I wiggled my toes, grinning like a fool. Sharon’s eyes sparkled, and the salesgirl smiled knowingly.

"How did you know my size?" My voice was soft, a little awed.

"With your feet as big as boats, just pick the biggest pair." The salesgirl giggled, probably envying me for having a wife who understood me so well.

I felt a warmth in my chest, the kind that comes from being truly seen.

"Ma’am, pick out some clothes for her—the most expensive one." I wanted to treat her right, to show her she deserved the best. It was a silly gesture, but it meant something to me.

"Ma’am, the most expensive isn’t necessarily the best. The most suitable is best."

See, that’s the right attitude. I nodded, grateful for her practicality. Sharon always knew what mattered most.

"You’re right—find the most suitable one for her."

The salesgirl nodded and led Sharon to the racks. I watched her touch each fabric, eyes bright with curiosity and hope.

In the end, Sharon chose a light red coat with little white flowers. She looked fresh and elegant—so beautiful I couldn’t look away. She tried it on, spinning in front of the mirror. For the first time, she looked truly happy. I memorized the moment, wanting to keep it forever.

Good things are always interrupted unexpectedly. Just as I reached for Sharon’s hand, the front door swung open and chaos entered.

While we were looking at women’s shoes, Linda rushed in and knelt in front of Sharon. She collapsed to her knees, sobbing loudly enough to turn every head in the store. Shoppers froze, clerks hovered in alarm. I felt my stomach drop.

"I beg you, let Mike go. We’re his real family. Why are you tearing us apart..." Her voice echoed through the aisles, painting us as villains. The drama unfolded in slow motion, each word calculated to wound.

The sudden scene made Sharon and me the center of attention in the store. People whispered behind their hands, giving us wary glances. In a town this small, stories would travel faster than the morning news.

I was stunned. This didn’t happen in my last life. I stood frozen, unsure how to respond. Sharon reached for my hand, her grip steady and reassuring.

Linda’s words were carefully chosen, pinning us to the pillar of moral shame. She spun her tale, eyes wide and pleading. I felt the weight of her manipulation pressing down on me.

Sharon’s face turned cold: "Linda, you can’t guilt-trip us into the past. Mike’s allowed to move on, and so am I." Her voice was steady, her eyes sharp as knives. She wouldn’t be cowed by theatrics. Her courage emboldened me.

The onlookers started whispering: "I heard it was an accident..." "Left two kids..." "And a grandma too..." The whispers grew, a chorus of half-remembered gossip and judgment. I felt anger rising in my chest, but I kept my head high.

Linda’s tears fell like melting spring snow from the eaves: "But just a few days ago, we agreed to live together." She looked at me, eyes pleading. But I saw through her act now—no more guilt, no more obligation. I reached for Sharon’s hand, feeling the weight of every eye in the store. This time, I wasn’t letting go—no matter who tried to pull me back.