The school called. “Your daughter hasn’t been pick…

” I asked finally, because silence had become unbearable, and because even in the middle of horror, a child still has to eat.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“What do you like?”

“Macaroni.”

So I stopped at a grocery store.

I bought the blue box kind. Milk. Apple juice. A pack of cookies I didn’t usually eat. A coloring book, because I could not bear the idea of bringing continue reading …