A teen girl tried to steal a book from our store

The girl I met was real. She spoke, cried, hugged me. She pressed this brooch into my hand with warmth, with urgency.

“I—I don’t understand,” I say, my voice barely steady. “The girl said her mom died.”

The woman’s lips tremble, and she closes her eyes for a moment, as if bracing herself against a wave of memories.

“My daughter used to say that,” she continue reading …