That Friday, I stood in the juice aisle holding a carton of orange juice that cost six dollars. Harper loves orange juice, so I placed it gently into the cart, but then I hesitated and took it back out.
“Grandma, it’s okay,” Harper said quietly as she watched me. “We can just get the water kind instead.”
She’s only seven years old, and she really shouldn’t know how to say things like that. Money is tight, and it breaks my heart every time she notices.
“Next week, sweetheart, I promise,” I said as I put the carton back on the cold shelf. She never complains about anything, and that’s honestly the hardest part of raising her.
We cut through the seasonal aisle so she could look at the colorful Halloween bags. Suddenly Harper crouched down on her knees and reached behind a large cardboard display box.
