“At twelve years old, I sent one desperate text asking my aunt for $20 because my baby brother was crying from hunger and there wasn’t a drop of milk left in our refrigerator. 010

I found Mom’s old phone on the counter.

Its screen was cracked, and it took forever to respond, but it worked.

My fingers trembled as I typed.

“Aunt Lisa, can you send me $20? I need to buy milk for Noah. I promise I’ll pay you back. Please.”

I read the message three times.

Asking for help embarrassed me, especially because I had nothing with which to repay her. But Noah’s cries were becoming weaker, and embarrassment suddenly felt like a luxury.

I checked the number.

Then I pressed send.

For a few seconds, nothing happened.

I put the phone down and kissed Noah’s forehead.

“She’ll help us.”

Then the phone buzzed.

My heart jumped.

I grabbed it, expecting Aunt Lisa’s name.

Instead, the screen showed an unfamiliar number.

The message contained only five words.

“Emily, who is baby Noah?”

My stomach dropped.

I checked the number again.