Leah nodded quickly. She unlocked the case, lifted out the teardrop sapphire on its white gold chain, and placed it on a clean velvet tray. Her hands shook again, but this time Willa reached toward her with her uninjured hand and gave the same reassuring smile she had offered earlier.
"Take your time, honey," she said. "There's no rush now."
Leah blinked back tears. "Yes, ma'am."
The pendant caught the soft lights and flashed a shade of blue that reminded Willa of the sky immediately after a thunderstorm. She examined the setting carefully, asking about the clasp, the chain length, and the care instructions. Leah answered each question without hurrying, checking the product information when she was unsure. For the first time all morning, Willa was treated as a customer who had come to learn about a purchase rather than a problem to be moved away.
"It's the one," Willa said after a few minutes. "Amara will love it."
Terrence reached for his wallet. Willa turned her head toward him. "No."
"Mom, I can—"
"I am paying for my granddaughter's birthday present. I've been telling you that since before you arrived."
He lifted both hands in surrender. "I know. I was only offering."
"I know you were. Put it away."
Willa handed Leah her own payment card. She paid the regular price, declining any suggestion of a discount or a complimentary gift from the store. For her, accepting a replacement gesture from the company at that moment would have changed the meaning of the errand. She had come to choose a beautiful thing for Amara, and she wanted to complete that simple act as herself.
Leah wrapped the pendant in tissue paper and placed it inside a small velvet box, then into a Beaumont shopping bag. She checked the receipt and care instructions twice before handing them to Nadine. Willa noticed the care with which she worked. She also noticed that Leah was watching her injured hand, unable to forget what had happened even while performing the ordinary rituals of a sale.
"You did very well," Willa told her. "Both with the earrings and with this. Don't let one bad morning tell you what kind of person you can become."
Leah's lips trembled. She lowered herself to one knee beside the wheelchair, not because Willa asked her to, but because she wanted to meet her eyes. "You were kind to me when I dropped that tray," she said.
"You didn't know me. You didn't need to help. And then he treated you like that. I'm so sorry."
Willa touched her hand gently. "You have nothing to apologize for on his behalf. You can choose what you do next. That's what matters."
She paused and smiled. "And you're doing fine."