I stood behind him, frozen.
Ben was in the hallway, dragging his stuffed fox by one ear.
I already knew what my father was going to ask.
The night before, I had scraped the last of a frozen bag of peas and half a cup of rice into a saucepan and stretched it into something I could call dinner if I didn’t look too closely.
I had stirred it until steam fogged my glasses and told myself it was simple food.
Ben had stood on his tiptoes beside the stove.
“Do we still have the strawberry yogurt?”
I had forced a smile.
“The store was out.”
He had looked disappointed for maybe three seconds.
Then he had shrugged.
“Maybe next time.”
Later, after I tucked him into bed, he had curled against my side.
“Mommy?”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe they have it tomorrow.”
That sentence had broken something inside me.
Because he believed me.
