Lupita smiled gently.

“Why is the fridge outside, Chloe?”

And my daughter answered without looking up from her chalk.

“So everyone can see that it’s full.” Neither Lupita nor I laughed.

We did not say anything at all for a moment, because we both understood what we had just heard, the whole story of a child’s wound and a child’s healing, compressed into a single sentence drawn in chalk.

She had known what it was to stand before an empty refrigerator, alone and afraid and silent.