Chapter 1 — The Empty Refrigerator

When my father, Warren Hayes, drove up to our house in Columbus, Ohio, he expected to find his six-year-old granddaughter waiting by the door with her purple backpack and her favorite stuffed rabbit.

Instead, he found Ruby at the kitchen table, quietly eating dry cereal out of a plastic cup.

“Grandpa!” she shouted, jumping down from her chair. Dad spread his arms to catch her — and the smile faded the moment he saw what she was holding. “Where’s the milk, sweetheart?”

“We don’t have any,” Ruby said, matter-of-fact. “Mom said she’ll buy some after work.”

My father turned his eyes toward me. I stood by the sink in my pharmacy uniform, trying to hide the dread rising in my chest.

I had prayed he would pick Ruby up quickly.

I had prayed he would never open the refrigerator.

But Dad had always noticed what everyone else missed. He crossed the kitchen, pulled the door open, and looked at what was inside: half a bottle of ketchup, a jar of pickles, two eggs, and a container of leftovers that should have been thrown out days ago.

He studied the near-empty shelves for a long few seconds. Then he quietly shut the door.

“Julia,” he said, “why is the child hungry if you earn three thousand dollars a month?”

His voice stayed calm, which made the question land harder than any shout would have. “I’m handling it,” I whispered.

“With what? There’s no food in this house.”