I grabbed the padlock in my bare right hand and yanked at the latch as hard as I could.

The iron didn’t give an inch.

“Are you mad at me, Grandma?” Benji asked from his pallet.

“No, Benji.

I’m not mad at you.”

“Jaclyn said you’d be mad if I asked for dinner while her friends were here.”

“I’m not mad at you,” I said again, keeping my voice steady.

I looked down at the lock once more, running my fingernail along the hardened steel loop.