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.

Mireya helped my mom get a grant for childcare and rewrite her résumé. Within a month, my mom got a full-time janitor job at a hospital. The pay was steady, and she finally had health insurance. My sister and I also started attending a weekend school program that offered free lunches and tutoring. Slowly, things started getting better for our family.

Then, there was an unexpected turn. Mrs. Danika lost her job of eleven years without any severance. My mom invited her to stay with us. We lived in a small one-bedroom apartment, so my sister and I slept in the living room. Mrs. Danika came with two bags and a willingness to help. She stayed for six weeks, and she and my mom would look for jobs together over instant coffee.

After Mrs. Danika got a part-time job at a food nonprofit, she invited us to what we thought was a potluck. But when we arrived, we found a decorated hall filled with lights. Mrs. Danika had nominated my mom for an award, “Most Impactful Community Ally.”

The letter she wrote was read out loud: “She once gave me half a salad when she barely had enough to feed herself. She shared her home, her warmth, her hope. I am standing today because she didn’t let me fall.”

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