“Booties? For this much?” I pick up the pair for inspection.

The seller purses her lips, wrapping her shawl around herself as another gust ripples through the air. “They are in perfect condition.”

I run my fingers over the pink cashmere, the small embroidered flowers. These shoes are lovely, but worth nowhere near their price. I look over the rest of the table, stacked with neatly folded baby clothes. Something in me smiles, and my hand goes up to my stomach and rubs, a reflex now.

“What stores did you get these from?”

She adjusts her shawl again, gaze fixed somewhere off to her side. “I made them.”

“All of these?” I shake my head. “Your little girl must be so spoiled!”

Her jaw tightens in the silence.

“Buy the pair or go somewhere else,” she says. “I won’t say it again. I made everything here by hand, and none of it’s used.”