A slight shrug. Her gaze remained downcast. “Since last year.”
Sam spoke up before the silence fell. “We do sports together. Lizie is the only one who can run the kilometer without complaining.”
A faint smile touched Lizie’s face. She took her glass of water, drained it in one gulp, refilled it from the carafe, and took another sip. Her hands were trembling.
I looked at the food on the table, then at the two girls, and did the math for the second time that evening: less chicken, more rice, a different distribution. No one would notice.
Dan continued the conversation.
“How are algebra classes going for you two?”
Sam rolled his eyes with the theatrical exaggeration typical of teenagers. “Dad. Nobody likes algebra. And nobody talks about it at the dinner table.”
Lizie’s voice softened. “I like it. I like patterns.”
Sam smirked. “Yeah, you’re the only one in our class.”
Dan chuckled softly. “You would have been a lifesaver when we were filing our taxes, Lizie.” Sam almost made us lose our refund.
“Dad!”
The laughter around the table was quiet but genuine. Lizie’s demeanor shifted slightly after that. Not relaxed, not yet, but a little less tense.
After dinner, Sam handed her a banana, saying it was a house rule—and the look on that girl’s face haunted me. Lizie stood there after dinner, looking like someone who had learned to leave quickly, before becoming a burden.
Sam intercepted her with a banana from the fruit bowl.
“You forgot dessert.”
Lizie blinked. “Really? Are you sure?”
“It’s a house rule. No one leaves here on an empty stomach.” Sam shoved the banana into her hand. “Ask my mother.”
Lizie squeezed it like she squeezed the straps of her backpack. “Thank you,” she said softly.
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