Chapter 16 - FoodSorrel hid bread.
Dinner rolls.
Crackers.
A granola bar under her pillow.
I discovered them because ants did.
I almost reacted.
Then I remembered Dr. Helena Morris.
“Don't shame food storage that comes from uncertainty.”
So we created a snack drawer.
Always stocked.
Fruit.
Crackers.
Granola bars.
Cheese.
Water.
No one asked permission to eat.
No one earned dinner.
No one lost food for disobedience.
For the first month, Sorrel checked the drawer constantly.
Then less.
By seven, she stopped hiding bread.
By eight, she started helping me cook.
Because she wanted to.
The first time she carried a serving tray, I nearly lunged across the room.
She caught me staring.
“Dad.”
“Sorry.”
“I can carry it.”
“I know.”
She carried lemonade outside.
One glass slipped.
She froze.
I grabbed a towel.
“Floor's thirsty.”
She laughed.
That laugh mattered more than the broken glass.
May you like
Healing wasn't about never seeing a tray again.
It was about seeing one and knowing you could put it down whenever you wanted.
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