Clara squatted next to the tiny figure, “Sweetheart please eat,” she begged, holding a small section of the grilled cheese sandwich, that only five minutes ago, had been demanded.
Megan, her lips puckered as if stung by bees, crossed her arms, shook her head side to side and shoved the plate away.
Her mother’s temper flared, “I made it the way you wanted, either eat it or go hungry,” she said, scooting the plate back in front of her daughter.
The Wilson’s little darling, the youngest child and only girl in a brew of four rambunctious kids, burst into tears, “You cut the crust off, it’s ruined.”
Clara remembered how hard she prayed for a daughter and softened, dumped the cold sandwich into the trash and prepared to make a fresh one; it was just a cheese sandwich.