Outside, distant fireworks cracked across the sky, bursts of color she could not see from her narrow window but could hear clearly enough. It was New Year’s Eve. Somewhere not far away, people were raising glasses, kissing at midnight, making plans about diets and vacations and fresh starts. Marlene wondered what it must feel like to make resolutions instead of calculations about diapers and rent and bus fare.
She opened her wallet on the counter. Three dollars and twenty seven cents. She counted it twice anyway. The cheapest formula cost eighteen dollars. The one Juniper needed, the one that did not leave her screaming with stomach pain, cost twenty four. Marlene had memorized those numbers the way other people memorized birthdays.
Her phone buzzed again. She did not need to read the message to know what it said. The landlord had stopped using polite reminders and moved on to bold letters and final warnings. Twelve days past due. Eviction paperwork ready.