The Locks
Summary: They locked the pantry, the fridge — even the fruit bowl.
I was sent to my room while the smell of pot roast and laughter drifted up the stairs.
The next morning, I hoped it was over. It wasn’t. A new lock on the pantry. A padlock on the fridge. The fruit bowl—gone.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Mom cooed to Melanie, who ate pancakes and bacon.
My stomach twisted. “Can I have breakfast?”
Dad didn’t look up. “Have you learned respect?”
“I’m sorry for questioning you,” I said.
“That’s not a real apology,” Melanie chimed in. “Real apologies own the harm.”
Mom added, “When you show true remorse and commit to change, you can eat.”
I tried to argue, but Dad cut me off. “This backtalk proves our point.”
They left. The kitchen stayed locked.
At school, I hid my shame. I bought a small sandwich with lunch money. It barely helped.
By day three, I was dizzy. I stretched the last of my babysitting cash to crackers and one apple. Less than two dollars left.
The hunger was constant — thick, dizzying, impossible to ignore.
