She nodded. “It’s bad, Dad. Today she passed out in gym. The teachers told her to eat better, but she only eats lunch—and not even every day.”
My anger faded. I sat down at the table, the room tilting slightly. “I… I was worried about stretching dinner. And she’s just trying to make it through the day… I’m sorry, Sam. I shouldn’t have yelled.”
Sam met my eyes, stubborn but soft. “I told her to come back tomorrow.”
I let out a breath, defeated but proud. “Okay. Bring her back.”
The next day, I made extra pasta, nerves buzzing as I seasoned the meat. Lizie returned, hugging her bag. At dinner, she finished everything, then carefully wiped her spot at the table.
Dan asked, “You doing okay, Lizie?”
She nodded without looking at him.
By Friday, she had become part of our routine—homework, dinner, goodbye. She washed dishes with Sam, humming quietly. One evening, she fell asleep at the counter, then woke with a start and apologized three times.
Dan caught my arm. “Should we call someone? She needs… help, right?”
“And say what?” I whispered. “That her dad’s struggling and she’s tired? I don’t even know where to start, Dan. Let’s just do what we can.”
He sighed. “She looks worn out.”
I nodded. “I’ll talk to her. Gently this time.”
Over the weekend, I tried to learn more.
Sam shrugged. “She doesn’t talk about home. Just says her dad works a lot. And sometimes the power gets cut. She pretends it’s fine, but she’s always hungry… and tired.”
That Monday, Lizie looked even paler. As she pulled out her homework, her backpack slipped off the chair and burst open. Papers scattered across the floor—crumpled bills, an envelope of coins, and a shutoff notice stamped “FINAL WARNING” in red.
A worn notebook fell open, pages filled with lists.
I knelt to help. “EVICTION” stared up at me in bold letters. Underneath, in neat handwriting: “What we take first if we get evicted.”
“Lizie…” My voice caught. “What is this?”
She froze, lips pressed tight, fingers twisting her hoodie.
Sam gasped. “Lizie, you didn’t say it was this bad!”
Dan walked in. “What’s going on?” He saw the papers.
I held up the envelope. “Lizie, sweetheart… are you and your dad losing your home?”
She stared at the floor, clutching her bag. “My dad said not to tell anyone. He said it’s nobody’s business.”
“Sweetheart, that’s not true,” I said gently. “We care. But we can’t help if we don’t know what’s happening.”
She shook her head, tears forming. “He says people will look at us different. Like we’re begging.”
Dan crouched beside us. “Is there anywhere else you can go? An aunt or friend?”
CONTINUE READING...>>
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