Hunger doesn’t just hurt; it humiliates. I learned to joke through the dizziness, to pretend the ache was nothing, to swallow my shame along with the emptiness. Then the food began to appear, like a secret pact between the universe and my backpack. I never saw a hand. I never heard a word. But every wrapped crust, every crisp apple, every careful portion whispered that I was not invisible, not completely abandoned, not as alone as the late notices on our kitchen table made me feel. Those quiet gifts steadied me when everything else felt like it was falling apar… Continues…