A week earlier, my parents had practically forced two hundred dollars on me so I could buy what I needed to stay healthy. After an ultrasound at the clinic and prenatal vitamins, I had less than twenty left. They could barely support themselves—how could I ask them for more?
Sitting in the dark, I covered my eyes and let out a long, exhausted sigh. In the three years I’d known Sebastian, I’d hardly ever asked him for money, apart from gifts while we were dating and expenses related to trying for a baby and being pregnant. Even my parents had refused their son-in-law’s financial help, determined to support themselves.
I’d thought that would keep Sebastian from doubting me. He’d never have a reason to think I was after his family’s fortune. Somehow, it had still come to this.
My phone vibrated. Sebastian. “You called?” His voice was almost gentle, but it did nothing to calm the anger boiling inside me.
“Did you tell Camilla to cut my allowance in half?”
“Yes.”
“Sebastian, if you’re trying to starve this baby to death, send me a thousand dollars right now,” I snapped. “I’ll pay for the abortion myself.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Anger crept into his voice. “I halved your allowance because you keep wasting money on things you don’t need. I want you to save what’s left and actually spend it on food!”
My fingers tightened around the phone, though I barely had the strength to hold it. “You think I had enough to eat before you cut it? Have you completely forgotten what money is worth? Since when is food that cheap?”
He was silent for a long time. “Sofia, you’re the one who doesn’t understand money. Even with half, you still get more than most people could spend. If you want money, just ask. Don’t give me some pathetic excuse about not being able to afford food.”
He seemed about to hang up, then remembered something. “I’ll send more. Stop stealing.” The call ended.
A few minutes later, Camilla sent the money. Fifty cents.
She called, sounding exasperated. “Mr. Moretti says that if you’re still unhappy with everything you have, he really will divorce you.”
I gripped the phone. Fifty cents, plus the two dollars left in Venmo. Two-fifty was all I had, not even enough for a cup of coffee in New York.
At the pizza place on the corner, I bought a dollar-fifty slice, the cheapest thing on the menu. It was the only thing I ate all day.
That evening, I passed a small bakery. Through the window, I watched an employee arranging day-old bagels, croissants, and doughnuts by the counter for the closing-time sale. I stopped, unable to look away.
“You again?” The owner recognized me and glanced at the clock. “We’re marking down what’s left. Three for five dollars.”
I swallowed. “Five dollars…” I looked down at my phone. My Venmo balance was still pitiful.
“Could I…” My voice faded. “Could I just buy one? For a little less?”
He hesitated, then shook his head. “Sorry, miss. We’re a small business. I can’t go any lower.”
I nodded and turned away. If I couldn’t see it or smell it, I told myself, I wouldn’t want it so badly. But the hunger wouldn’t go away.
I wandered along the street until I saw a bakery worker tipping bread trimmings into a garbage bag. After a moment’s hesitation, I asked quietly, “Um… do you sell those?”
She looked at me. “Wait. Have we met? Aren’t you Mrs. Moretti?”
I shook my head at once. “No… that’s not me.” But I recognized her: she was the wife of a guard at the estate, and she’d attended the staff Thanksgiving party.
She nodded. “Right. That woman’s bleeding Mr. Moretti dry. Why would she be digging through the trash for crumbs?”
I swallowed hard. “Could I buy half a bag for fifty cents?”
She stared at me in disbelief. “Even a little for a quarter would do,” I added, my voice dwindling to almost nothing.
In the end, she gave me the whole bag for free. I spent my last dollar at the convenience store next door on the smallest, cheapest bottle of water.