The refrigerator door creaked as Dad opened it, casting a pale, cold glow across shelves that were almost completely empty.
In one corner sat a single bottle of ketchup.
My son stood close by in his red Spider-Man hoodie, holding tightly to his toy truck and watching the adults with that quiet expression children have when they sense something serious is happening but don’t fully understand why.
My stomach tightened as Dad looked from the empty refrigerator to my son’s thin wrists.
“Explain this,” he said quietly.
His voice carried the same firm tone he had used years earlier whenever I tried to avoid doing my homework.
