In her arms, eight-month-old Juniper let out a weak cry.
Not the piercing wail of a healthy baby who knew she’d be fed soon.
This was softer. Thinner. The sound of a child who was too hungry to cry with conviction anymore.
“I know, baby,” Marlene whispered, pressing her lips to Juniper’s hair. “Mom’s figuring it out. I promise.”
Outside, fireworks cracked and boomed through the winter air. Red and gold reflections flashed briefly against the window glass. New Year’s Eve. The rest of the world was celebrating—counting down, clinking glasses, posting resolutions about fitness goals and dream vacations.
Those were the kinds of problems people worried about when they weren’t standing in the dark, wondering how to feed their child.
Marlene shifted Juniper to her shoulder and walked to the tiny bathroom mirror. Her reflection startled her. Hollow eyes. Hair pulled into a messy knot that hadn’t been redone in days. A faded QuickMart uniform shirt hung loose on her frame.
She reached into her wallet.
Three dollars and twenty-seven cents.
