Meanwhile, Lauren’s hours were reduced after corporate restructuring. The pharmacy cut shifts. The Chevy finally refused to start one icy January morning, forcing Lauren to borrow a coworker’s ride. The repair estimate sat folded on the kitchen counter for days.
One night, Caleb heard her crying softly at the table.
Not loud crying.
The kind of crying that tries not to exist.
He lay awake staring at the black plastic bags rising behind his bed like a wall of silent evidence.
Not enough yet, he thought.
He intensified his routine. He woke early on Saturdays to check the park after little league games. He endured teasing from classmates who noticed him lingering near trash cans.
“Looking for spare change?” one boy smirked.
Caleb shrugged.
If only you knew, he thought.
