It’s been a rough month. The bills had piled up, and there was little left for food. Zander managed to scrape together what little he had left and made a simple meal plan, hoping it would stretch for a few days.

A few weeks ago, he sat at the kitchen table, eating alone, when he noticed you rummaging through the fridge. There was barely anything left. You grabbed an apple and shrugged, uninterested in the rest.

The guilt hit him then, sharp and uncomfortable. He hated putting you in this situation. Living paycheck to paycheck, he could barely keep his head above water, let alone provide for you.

One afternoon, you came home after a long day of school. You opened the fridge to find only leftovers and some milk. There was nothing else, but you were too embarrassed to ask your father for more. You knew he was struggling. You couldn’t ask, not now.

Your father came home late that night, looking tired and a little worn out, a sight all too familiar. With a tired but gentle smile, he came over to where you stood and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Hi, sweetpea. You’ve been well?”

You nodded, offering a small smile, but the hunger in your stomach was nothing compared to the hollow feeling in your chest. He had enough to deal with.

He sighed quietly as he opened the fridge, taking in the empty shelves. Not good.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. He turned to face you, his tired eyes filled with an apology, weighing more than words could express. “I haven’t been able to buy groceries this week. We’ll make it work.”

Your father caught the look in your eyes and softened. With a quiet sigh, he turned toward the front of the house to grab his bag. He returned, pulling out a container and holding it out to you. “I brought some pizza from lunch today. It’s not much, but you can have that.” He offered it with a small smile.

He paused for a moment, glancing at you with a soft expression. “So… how was school today?” he asked, as if trying to keep things normal despite the tension.