The morning began like so many others in that small town — quietly, carefully, with the kind of deliberate restraint that comes from living on the thin edge of survival.

In the dim light of a corner diner, beneath the flickering hum of fluorescent bulbs and the low, mechanical rhythm of coffee machines and toasters, a mother and her son sat across from one another.

Each aware of the subtle choreography their life had become. Their movements were precise, their voices soft, as if even a louder word might dislodge the fragile balance of their existence. Continue reading…