Stories, health tips, and curious facts made simple.
Two stayed on our kitchen table.
The third always went to Victor.
I hated it.
We weren’t rich. Far from it.
There were winters when our electricity got shut off. Times when my shoes were held together with tape.
Yet somehow Victor always got a hot meal.
When I was eleven, I finally said what I had been thinking for years.
“He eats better than I do, Mom.”
My mother froze at the stove.
“Fiona, please don’t start.”
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