The supermarket incident happened on a Thursday afternoon in March, just two weeks before Emma’s seventh birthday. For months, I’d been meticulously saving money from my part-time job at the local library, a quiet sanctuary in an otherwise turbulent life. I skipped lunches, walked the two miles to work instead of driving my beat-up Honda Civic, and mended clothes instead of buying new ones, all so I could afford something truly special for my little girl.