She nodded. “It’s serious, Dad. She fainted during gym class today. The teachers told her to eat more, but she only eats at lunch, and not even every day.”
My anger faded. I sat down at the table, the room tilting slightly. “I… I was worried about making dinner last as long as possible. And she’s just trying to get through the day… I’m sorry, Sam. I shouldn’t have yelled.”
Sam met my gaze, stubborn but gentle. “I told her to come back tomorrow.”I breathed a sigh of relief, defeated but proud. “Okay. Bring her back.”
The next day, I made an extra batch of pasta, nerves on edge as I seasoned the meat. Lizie returned, clutching her bag. At dinner, she finished everything, then carefully cleaned her place at the table.
Dan asked, “Everything okay, Lizie?”
She nodded without looking at him.
By Friday, it had become part of our routine: homework, dinner, goodbyes. She washed the dishes with Sam, humming softly. One night, she fell asleep on the kitchen counter, then woke with a start and apologized three times.
Dan grabbed my arm. “Should we call someone? She needs… help, doesn’t she?”
“And what about?” I whispered. “That her dad’s going through a hard time and she’s tired? I don’t even know where to begin, Dan. We just do what we can.”
He sighed. “She looks exhausted.”
I nodded. “I’ll talk to her. Gently, this time.”
Over the weekend, I tried to delve deeper into the subject.
Sam shrugged. “She never talks about home. She just says her dad works a lot. And sometimes the power goes out. She pretends everything’s fine, but she’s always hungry… and tired.”
That Monday, Lizie was even paler. As she pulled out her homework, her backpack slipped off her chair and burst open. Papers strewn across the floor: crumpled bills, a bag of coins, and a service interruption notice with “LAST NOTICE” written in red.
A worn notebook snapped open, revealing pages full of lists.
