That’s when I saw them: a perfect little pair of brown leather shoes. The vendor smiled kindly and let me have them for my last $5. It felt like a small victory. At home, I helped Stan try them on. As I adjusted one shoe, a soft crackling sound caught my attention. Curious, I pulled out the insole and found a folded note hidden inside. The handwriting was shaky but clear: “These shoes belonged to my son, Jacob. He was only four when illness took him. My husband left when things got hard, and now I’m alone with memories too heavy to carry. If you find this, please remember Jacob. Remember that he was loved.” — Anna