“I’m not begging,” Dana said, shielding the baby with her small body.
“I’m buying. I have money.”
She opened her wet palm.
After a pause, the clerk pointed toward the back.
“Formula’s there. Don’t make a mess.”
Prices punched her in the chest.
Big can—impossible.
Medium—no.
She found the smallest, cheapest one.
It would cost everything.
Her stomach growled when she saw cookies nearby.
For one second, she almost chose herself.
Then the baby whimpered.
Dana swallowed hard.
“You can fast,” she told her stomach.
At the counter, she counted coin by coin.
She was fifty cents short.
Panic stole her breath.
The clerk sighed and reached for the items—
Then stopped.
Maybe it was the baby’s soft cry.
Maybe it was Dana’s face—so young it hurt to look at.
“Forget it,” he muttered, pushing the items back.
“Take it. Go.”
Dana ran before he could change his mind.
That night, in her cardboard shelter, Dana fed the baby.
He drank like life depended on it.
Because it did.
The baby slept.
Dana didn’t.
She held the silver chain tight.
“Tomorrow,” she whispered,
“we’re going to that big house. And I’m getting answers.”
THE PARTY
By morning, the rain had stopped.
Dana walked for hours to the hills where the wealthy lived.