I wasn’t just buying a bicycle. I was buying a different childhood for my daughter.

“Are you sure?” Emma asked as the salesman, a kind older man named Mr. Miller, wheeled the cruiser out. The chrome fenders gleamed under the fluorescent lights. “It’s… it’s expensive.”

“It is yours,” I said, crouching down to look her in the eye. I needed her to understand the weight of this. “Every bolt, every spoke. You earned this by being the brave, kind girl you are.”

Her hands shook as she touched the white leather handlebars. “Is it really mine?”

“Paid in full,” I said, my voice thick.

We should have gone to the park. We should have gone home, ordered pizza, and ridden circles in the safe, quiet cul-de-sac of our apartment complex. But the human heart is a treacherous thing, forever seeking water from dry wells.

“Can we show Grandpa?” Emma asked, her eyes shining. “Maybe… maybe he’ll say he’s proud of you now? Since you have a big job?”