You know how people say things can change overnight? I used to roll my eyes at that. Thought it was just something people said to make their stories sound dramatic. But I get it now. I really get it.
Because one year ago, I had a life, a husband, and a decent house in the suburbs. A car that ran, and a best friend who was more like a sister. Then boom — like a damn wrecking ball through my chest, it all shattered.
I remember coming home early from my shift at the bakery and finding them together. My husband and my best friend, laughing in our kitchen as if they’d never done anything wrong. Two weeks later, the divorce papers showed up.
He took the house, the car, and, like the cherry on top of my humiliation sundae, he drained our bank account clean. I didn’t even have enough left to buy our son, Ben, a Happy Meal.
Ben, my five-year-old, is the only reason I didn’t completely fall apart. He has these big brown eyes and this little dimple when he smiles. They remind me that life used to be good. And I’d do anything to protect him.
I got a job at this grimy diner downtown. The kind of place where the floors stick to your shoes and the coffee tastes like regret. But it was the only place that didn’t ask too many questions. Minimum wage, no benefits, and the tips were laughable.
Rent, daycare, utilities… they swallowed my paycheck whole. Most nights, I’d drink tap water and fake a full stomach. Ben would ask, “Mommy, why aren’t you eating?” and I’d tell him I already ate at work. He’d nod, but his eyes… God, those eyes knew I was lying.
So yeah. I started sneaking food home. Just scraps, really. A half-eaten grilled cheese, cold fries someone didn’t touch, a slice of pie that sat in the case too long.
I always waited until everyone left, then slipped them into my purse when no one was looking.
I didn’t think of it as stealing — I thought of it as surviving.
Continue reading on the next page 👇
