I Packed My Son’s Lunch Every Morning – It Led the Police Straight to My Door

The last time I checked, we had two cans of soup left in the pantry, half a loaf of almost-stale bread, and no fruit. I had $23 in my checking account and three shifts left until payday.

I pulled open my dresser drawer, looked at the gold locket I hadn’t worn since my mother passed, and wondered if the pawn shop still took jewelry without cases.

I could probably stretch it enough to get us through the week.

The next morning, I skipped breakfast. I filled Andrew’s thermos with the last of the chicken noodle soup and slipped a chocolate bar into his coat pocket — a leftover Halloween treat I’d saved.

My son grinned, hugging me tightly before running down the stairs.

He didn’t know I hadn’t eaten or that I was trying to figure out how to make his lunch again tomorrow.

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