The Baby’s Father Wanted Nothing to Do With Us
I tracked down the baby’s father next, a man Sarah had dated briefly. When he finally answered my call, his voice was cold and distant.
“I told Sarah from the start I wasn’t ready for this.”
“You’re the grandmother. Handle it.”— The baby’s father
And with that, the line went dead. When I tried calling back, I discovered he’d blocked my number.
So here I am now, rocking a baby at 3 a.m., counting pennies at the kitchen table by noon. I live off my late husband’s pension and what remains of our savings, which shrinks a little more each month.
Some nights, I heat up canned soup for dinner and tell myself that Lily doesn’t know the difference between brand-name and store-brand formula. She’s healthy, and that’s what matters.
The Grocery Store Day That Broke Me
A few weeks ago was one of those days when everything felt impossibly heavy. My back ached from carrying Lily around all morning. The kitchen sink had started leaking again, and I couldn’t afford to call a plumber.
We were completely out of diapers and baby food, so I bundled Lily into her carrier, pulled on my worn winter coat, and headed to the grocery store.
Inside, holiday music blared, carts clogged the aisles, and everyone looked like they were shopping for joy while I was budgeting for survival.
I grabbed a few jars of baby food, a small pack of diapers, and one small piece of turkey breast. I wanted us to have something nice for Thanksgiving, even if it was just the two of us.
