The washing machine started grinding like it was warning me it wouldn’t last much longer.
We were out of diapers and baby food.
So I put Bambi in her carrier, pulled on my old winter coat, and went to the grocery store.
Outside, the November air slapped my face.
I pulled my coat tighter around us and whispered, “We’ll be quick, sweetheart. Grandma promises.”
Inside the store was chaos.
Holiday music blared too loud.
Carts jammed the aisles.
People looked irritated before anyone had even said a word.
I moved fast, took a few jars of baby food, and grabbed a small pack of diapers.
Not the big box.
I couldn’t afford the big box.
I also added one small piece of turkey breast.
Not because I needed it.
Because I wanted Thanksgiving to feel like something other than survival.
At the register, I tried to smile at the young cashier.
He looked exhausted, like he’d been yelled at all day.
I set my items down and slid my card.
Beep.
Declined.
My stomach dropped so hard I thought I might be sick.
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