Medicine or rent.
Milk or lights.
It was always one or the other.
She bundled Marcus up and walked to the closest neighbor she knew—Mrs. Henderson, the woman with the perfect yard and the tight mouth.
Keisha knocked, shifting Marcus on her hip.
The door cracked open.
Mrs. Henderson’s eyes narrowed like Keisha was a problem knocking.
“What.”
Keisha swallowed pride so thick it hurt. “My son’s got a fever. I just need a little children’s medicine. Or milk. I’ll pay you back.”
Mrs. Henderson’s face hardened.
“No.”
“Please,” Keisha said, voice breaking. “He’s just a baby.”
Mrs. Henderson started to close the door.
Keisha reached out without thinking. “Wait—”
“Get off my property,” the woman snapped. “Don’t touch my door.”
Keisha stepped back too fast.
Her boot hit the icy edge of the step.
She went down hard.
Marcus screamed.
Pain shot through Keisha’s elbow.
