That afternoon, when I came home from school, my mom called to ask for a favor. She hadn’t eaten lunch at work and was feeling hungry. Our refrigerator was nearly empty, holding only a few vegetables. My sister and I did our best and made a simple salad. We were hungry too, but we carefully packed the salad into a container and carried it to her job.
When we got there, we found her in the breakroom with her coworker, a kind woman named Mrs. Danika. Mrs. Danika was in her mid-50s and had a quiet voice. She was rubbing her head, looking tired. My mom’s face lit up when she saw us, but her eyes quickly looked at the salad container.
