There would be three plates, and maybe lunch for tomorrow.

Dan glanced at the kitchen clock, his worry lines deepening. “Sam’s done with her homework?”

I was already counting leftovers for lunch.

“I haven’t checked. She’s been quiet, so I’m assuming algebra is winning.”

“Or TikTok,” he grinned.

***

I was about to call everyone to the table when Sam burst in, trailed by a girl I didn’t know. The girl’s hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, hoodie sleeves past her fingertips, even in the late-spring heat.

Sam didn’t wait for me to speak. “Mom, Lizie’s eating with us.”

She said it like it wasn’t a request.

“Mom, Lizie’s eating with us.”

I blinked, knife still in my hand. Dan looked from me to the stranger and back.

The girl’s gaze stayed on the floor. Her sneakers were scuffed, and she clutched the straps of a faded purple backpack. I could see her ribs through the thin fabric of her shirt.

She looked like she wanted to melt into the linoleum.

“Uh, hi there.” I tried to sound warm, but it came out thin. “Grab a plate, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. Her voice barely reached the edge of the table.

I could see her ribs through the thin fabric of her shirt.

I watched her. Lizie didn’t just eat — she measured. One careful spoon of rice, a single piece of chicken, and two carrots. She glanced up at every clatter of a fork or scrape of a chair, tense as a startled cat.

Dan cleared his throat, always the peacemaker. “So, Lizie, right? How long have you known Sam?”

She shrugged, eyes still low.

“Since last year.”

Sam jumped in. “We have gym together. Lizie is the only one who can run a mile without complaining.”

“How long have you known Sam?”

That earned the tiniest smile from Lizie. She reached for water, hands shaking. She drank, refilled the glass, and then drank again. My daughter was watching me, daring me to say something.

I looked at the food, then at the girls. I did the math again: less chicken, more rice, maybe nobody would notice.

Dinner was mostly quiet. Dan tried to small-talk.

“How’s algebra treating you both?”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Dad. Nobody likes algebra, and nobody talks about algebra at the dinner table.”

Less chicken, more rice, maybe nobody would notice.

Lizie’s voice was barely audible when she spoke. “I like it. I like patterns.”

Sam smirked. “Yeah, you’re the only one in our class.”

Dan chuckled, trying to break the quiet. “I could’ve used you for my taxes last month, Lizie. Sam nearly cost us our refund.”

“Dad!” Sam groaned, rolling her eyes.

***