“You can have one, Mommy.”
My throat tightened.
He had just been denied food by his grandmother, yet his first instinct was still to share.
I took the fry because refusing it would have made the moment heavier than he deserved.
“Thank you,” I said.
He ate slowly at first.
Then he relaxed.
He dipped the fries in ketchup, drew a crooked smile on his paper placemat, and told me the diner made better food than Grandma’s house.
When he finished most of the basket, the waitress returned and set down another small serving without being asked.
“These are all yours too, sweetheart,” she said.
Dany’s whole face brightened.
A stranger wearing an apron had shown my child more warmth in ten minutes than my family had managed in four years.
My phone began buzzing against the sticky tabletop.
Mom.
I turned it facedown.
A minute later, it buzzed again.
