Bread Before Questions
She moved on instinct—eggs, bread, something sweet, because sweetness mattered more than explanations in moments like that. She placed the plate in front of him and watched disbelief soften into hunger, then into something like relief.
He ate quickly, then more slowly, then stopped altogether, hands folded as if afraid the kindness might vanish if he moved too much.
“You matter,” Margaret told him, the words leaving her without rehearsal, shaped by her own need to believe them. “Even if the world hasn’t acted like it yet.”
The boy’s shoulders shook, silent tears breaking loose, and something unseen shifted between them.
