I had meant to message my aunt, the only relative who sometimes helped when things became unbearable. I had mistyped one number. One single number. Instead of reaching family, my words had gone to someone I did not know at all.
A stranger.
My chest tightened as fear crept up my throat. My mother had always warned me. Never trust strangers. Never give out personal information. Never ask for help from people you do not know. Pride and caution were the only things standing between us and something worse.
My brother cried harder, his tiny fists clenching as his mouth searched against my shoulder, as if he believed food might somehow be hidden there.
The phone vibrated. I nearly dropped it again.
A reply appeared on the screen. “Are you okay. Is this an emergency.”
Relief flooded through me so fast my eyes burned, followed immediately by panic. Someone had read my message. Someone had answered. I typed quickly, my fingers clumsy with fear.
“I am sorry. I sent this by mistake. My baby brother needs milk. My mom can pay you back on the fifth.”
