Lila’s P.O.V.
The kitchen light buzzed overhead like it was tired of me too. I stood at the stove stirring spaghetti sauce with one hand while the other held the phone between my ear and shoulder. The sauce was from a jar—tomato-basil, the cheapest one on the shelf—but I’d added garlic powder, a pinch of dried oregano, and the last of the ground beef I’d stretched with breadcrumbs. Meatballs. Not the good kind with fresh parsley and parmesan, just enough to fool the kids into thinking it was special.
Shayla sat at the tiny table coloring a picture of a princess castle while Lucas pushed his toy truck in endless circles around her chair. Aiden was already asleep in the second-hand Pack ’n Play wedged between the refrigerator and the wall. Three kids. One bedroom. One paycheck that wasn’t
