And the next.

For weeks, Maya hoarded the food, squirreling it away against a famine that was over but that her body did not yet believe was over.

And then, slowly, she did it a little less.

And a little less.

Until one morning I saw a single chocolate bar sitting in that basket that had been sitting in the exact same spot for three days, untouched, unhidden, simply there.

And I walked into the bathroom, and I closed the door, and I cried quiet tears of pure relief.