“I didn’t eat it all.

I took it to the shelter and shared it with three people.

That doesn’t make what happened better for you, but I want you to know I wasn’t sitting there enjoying something you’d been denied without a thought.”

I pictured eight-year-old me staring from the window, unable to see anything beyond the pie leaving our door.

I would not have understood where it went, even if I had followed him.

“Mom shouted at me,” I said.