Three plates. Maybe four—if we were careful.
I was about to call them when the front door flew open. Sam stepped in, and behind her was a girl I didn’t recognize.
“Mom, Lizie’s eating with us.”
It wasn’t a question. It was already decided.
The girl lingered behind her, small for her age, sleeves covering her hands, shoulders slightly curved inward. Her eyes stayed low, as if she didn’t want to be noticed.
For a moment, my focus wasn’t even on her—it was on the pot simmering on the stove.
Then I forced a smile. “Of course. Come in, sweetheart. Grab a plate.”
She hesitated, like she needed reassurance twice before moving.
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