the previous season.
They were clean, neatly tied together by their laces.
I remembered Tiffany saying Maya had probably misplaced them.
Now I was holding them in my hands.
I carried the bag into the house.
Maya was sitting at the kitchen table, working on a drawing.
“Sweetheart, look what I found.”
She turned around.
Her eyes widened.
“My soccer shoes!”
She reached for them.
“Where were they?”
“In the garage.”
She examined the shoes carefully.
Then looked up.
“I thought I’d lost them.”
I nodded.
“So did I.”
But when I looked inside the bag again, I noticed something.
A small handwritten label.
It was attached to the handle.
And I recognized Tiffany’s handwriting.
One word was written across it.
DONATE.
I stood there holding the bag.
Maya was smiling because she’d found something she thought was gone.
But I couldn’t stop looking at that label.
Because suddenly, I
