I Thought I Could Handle the Truth — Until It Hit Me Again.

THE LUNCH I PRETENDED NOT TO NEED

At 14, hunger wasn’t the worst part.

Shame was.

I got good at pretending.

“I forgot my lunch.”

I said it lightly. Casual. Like it happened all the time.

The truth was harder to say: we couldn’t afford it.

My mom worked night shifts at a dry cleaner. Rent swallowed almost everything she made. My dad had disappeared years earlier, leaving behind silence and overdue bills.

So I hid.

Every lunch period, I slipped into the library and buried myself between shelves, telling myself I preferred the quiet.

Really, I was just trying to outrun the sound of my own stomach.