The Day We Shared Our Hunger, and Everything Changed

That evening, my sister and I shared the last piece of bread in the house. We didn’t have any butter, but we pretended everything was fine. We were used to it. But that day, something changed in me. I started to notice more—the meals my mom skipped, the duct tape holding her shoes together.

The next few months were very hard. My mom worked two part-time jobs, cleaning hotel rooms and working at a warehouse. She came home smelling of bleach and exhaustion. My sister, who was only eleven, had already learned to cook rice and do the laundry. We never talked about being broke; we just understood.

Then, my mom got a phone call from a woman named Mireya. She was starting a community group for single parents and had heard about my mom from Mrs. Danika. My mom didn’t want to go at first. But Mireya’s voice was warm and kind, and it convinced her.

On Wednesday, we rode the bus to the library. We walked into a small room where about ten people were gathered. There was soup, bread, and snacks laid out like a treasure. I ate two bowls of soup without feeling guilty. The people in the group talked about things like food stamps, free health clinics, and job openings. It was more than a support group; it was a place of hope.

Continue reading…