He told her that every success felt thinner than it was supposed to, that he had searched for her for five years because the only truly generous act he had ever received had come from a nine-year-old girl with a red ribbon and no reason to choose him.
Victoria listened without interrupting.
When he finished, she reached into her canvas bag, took out a worn Bible, opened it, and slid something from between the pages.
The other half of the ribbon.
He closed his eyes at the sight of it.
‘I kept it because kids say strange things when they’re hungry,’ she said gently.
‘But also because I wanted to believe you made it.’
They laughed.
Then they cried a little, not dramatically, just honestly, like people who had reached the end of a long road without realizing how tired they were.
When Isaiah asked how he could help, Victoria answered so quickly it was obvious she had already practiced the sentence on other well-meaning men with checks.
