Then she added, « His breakfast. »
The woman’s eyebrows lifted.
Vicky switched to a green crayon.
« He makes mine first. Then he says he’ll eat after, but sometimes he has to go to work. »
« He makes mine first. Then he says he’ll eat after. »
I looked at the floor.
That somehow felt worse than the accusation.
The woman studied me for a second.
Three months earlier, I’d been deciding between two dorm meal plans.
Now strangers were checking whether I owned enough cereal to raise a seven-year-old.
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