But there wasn’t.
Just cold.
Just silence.
Just the echo of what we didn’t have.
A lump formed in my throat.
But I couldn’t cry.
Not then.
Because if I cried…
who would comfort Noah?
Then I remembered something.
My aunt.
Sometimes she lent us money.
Not always.
But sometimes.
And “sometimes” was enough to try.
I grabbed my mom’s old phone.
The screen was cracked.
It lagged.
But it worked.
And that was all I needed.
I typed slowly. Carefully.
Like every word mattered.
“Aunt Lisa, can you lend me $20?
It’s to buy milk for Noah.
I promise I’ll pay you back.
Please.”
I read it three times.
