A wrinkled apple from the bottom of the fruit bowl.
A small handful of crackers in a folded napkin because the snack-sized bags had run out two weeks ago.
It was not much, but it was something.
I tucked it all into his blue lunchbox and zipped it shut.
« Mom? »
Noah stood in the doorway in his pajamas, his hair sticking up on one side, his small frame swallowed by the hallway behind him.
« You’re up early, love, » I said. « Come sit. I’ll make your toast. »
He padded over and climbed onto the chair, watching me the way he had lately.
Quiet.
Careful.
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