“Mrs. Mercer, you spent years deciding who I would be. You were wrong!”
The room held its breath—then applause broke out, slowly at first, then all at once.
I handed back the microphone and turned.
Ava wasn’t frozen anymore. She stood tall, chin lifted, shoulders squared, relief shining in her eyes.
And then, as if on cue, karma arrived.
Across the room, the principal was already approaching.
“Mrs. Mercer,” he said. “We need to talk. Now.”
No one defended her. The crowd parted, and she walked away without the authority she’d entered with.
By the end of the fair, every one of Ava’s bags was sold.
Parents shook her hand. Kids told her the bags were amazing. She sold out before any other table.
That evening, as we packed up, Ava looked at me.
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