Through the Peephole

The rapping on the door became more insistent.

I didn’t move and I didn’t make a sound.  Perhaps if I just sit here, quiet and still, she’ll go away.

It can be rough, and often tough, living alone and it can be hard making ends meet while still paying the rent on time.

Granted it can be a struggle and oft times putting food on the table has to take priority.

We all need to eat, but at least adults can go without a meal every now and then.  It’s the little one’s who can’t.  They need their food, they need the nourishment it provides so they can grow and thrive.

I understand, I do.  Food first, rent second.

It’s just the way it has to be sometimes.

– ⋅ o ♥ o ⋅ –

The rapping on the door grew louder and I dared to take a look.

There, on the other side of the peephole, was Susan.  I could see her looking straight in at me.

Oh, why did I look?  Now I have to open the door and as I did, I noticed Susan’s outstretched hand grasping a bunch of crumpled notes.

“Here Mrs Thompson,” she said.  “I’m sorry I’m late with the rent again.”  I could see she’d been crying.

I looked at the little one on her hip and said:

“No lovey.  You keep it and buy your little one some more formula.”


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