This thing felt too deliberate, too engineered, to be something as mundane as that.

The next morning, I slipped it into my purse and took it to the boutique near my apartment — a small shop that sold shoes and accessories. The owner, a soft-spoken woman named Rosa, examined it closely.

Her expression changed immediately. “Where did you get this?”

I hesitated. “It was in a bag I bought at a thrift store. Why?”

She turned it over, her thumb brushing the adhesive side. “These are custom-made. They’re not sold in stores. They’re fitted to specific designer shoes — usually for women who wear heels for long hours. Models, performers… people like that.”

“So someone had this made?” I asked.

She nodded slowly. “Yes. It’s a comfort pad. But the odd thing is, it’s part of a pair. They’re always sold together. People don’t lose just