Dana stood her ground, a puddle of muddy water forming around her boots. She pulled the baby closer.
“I’m not loitering,” she said firmly, squaring her shoulders. “I’m a customer. I have money.”
She opened her hand, showing the coins and bills. The clerk looked skeptical, then his eyes fell on the wet bundle in her arms.
“What’s that? You steal a kid?” he asked suspiciously.
“He’s my brother,” Dana lied quickly, staring him down. “My mom’s sick. He needs milk.”
The clerk snorted, but the sight of actual cash outweighed his desire to kick her out. He pointed toward the back.
“Formula’s in aisle four. If you touch it, you buy it. And don’t get mud on the carpet.”
Dana walked to the baby aisle, trying to step lightly. The prices on the shelves were staggering. A large tub of formula cost more than she made in a month. Finally, she found a small, ready-to-feed bottle of a generic brand on the bottom shelf.
She had enough, but it would take every cent she had. Every single one. Nothing would be left for her own food, not even a pack of crackers. Her stomach cramped again, demanding attention. Nearby, a display of protein bars seemed to mock her.
She could buy the bars for herself and give the baby sugar water. The baby stirred and let out a weak whimper, looking up at her with blue eyes full of total trust. No. She couldn’t do that. Sugar water was a lie.
He needed strength to survive. He deserved a chance, just like anyone else. A tear of frustration tracked through the dirt on her cheek. She felt small and hungry, but she reached for the bottle.
Dana took the formula and a cheap plastic nipple from the shelf. At the register, she carefully stacked her coins.
“You gonna be all night?” the clerk groaned, not hiding his annoyance.
She finished the count and went cold.
She was fifty cents short. Panic flared in her chest. She searched her pockets frantically, but they were empty.
“I’m fifty cents short,” she whispered, looking down in shame.
The clerk rolled his eyes and reached to take the bottle back.
But something in the girl’s desperate expression, or perhaps the faint cry from the blanket, hit a nerve. Or maybe he just wanted her gone.
“Whatever, just take it and get out,” he said, grabbing her money and shoving the bottle across the counter. “But don’t come back.”
“Thank you!” Dana grabbed the bottle like it was pure gold and ran back into the night.
Back in her alley behind a shuttered diner, she crawled into the cardboard box she called home. It was damp, but it blocked the wind. She lit a small stub of a candle to see.
“Welcome to my mansion,” she said with a weak smile. “It’s not much, but nobody’s gonna throw you away here.”
She prepared the bottle, her hands shaking. As soon as the nipple touched the baby’s lips, he began to drink greedily, his tiny hand latching onto her pinky finger. Dana watched him, fascinated. The sight seemed to quiet her own hunger, filling her with a strange sense of peace.
“Eat up, little Sterling,” she whispered. “You need to be strong.”
Once full, the baby fell into a deep sleep. Dana burped him the way she’d seen mothers do in the park and wrapped him in her dry sweater. She lay down on the cardboard, pulling him close to her chest to keep him warm through the night.
She couldn’t sleep; her mind was spinning. She pulled out the silver chain and studied the engraving by the flickering candle flame.
“I don’t know what happened,” she whispered to the sleeping child. “But I promise: tomorrow, we’re going to that big house.”
I saw that woman’s face. I’ll know her anywhere. The wind howled outside, trying to find a way in, but Dana held the boy tighter.
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