It was sad the day I found out. I wasn’t there to see it happen. She just left.

I was on my plaid couch watching The Golden Girls while eating a fine lean cuisine TV Dinner of fried chicken when my wife came home with a box. She opened it and I began to cry. I was angry as a storm.

“How could you do this to us!” I screamed pounding on the small box. “This is not a necessity! We were going to talk about this!”

“Honey, things like this happen. Sometimes a wife needs to have her own freedom to do the things she wants to do,” the wife patted her husband on the back. “Look how cute they are.” The wife pulled out little black red and white baby shoes.

“We don’t have the money to get Nike OG 1 Air! How are we going to pay off the car?”

“They are all the rage! We needed them.”

But the next day the husband hosted a garage sale. “For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn.”  we wrote on a cardboard sign staked into the ground. A folding table with one item, the box of shoes. Hours I sat waiting when an older lady came over and asked,

“Are these for real?” 

“They are. They were supposed to be for our son.”

“I am sorry for your loss.”

“No. Our son isn’t dead. We can’t afford to own these shoes.” the husband smiled looking at his wife storming away.