Chapter 16 - FOOD
Sorrel hid bread.
Not much.
Dinner rolls.
Crackers.
A granola bar under her pillow.
I discovered it when ants did.
I almost reacted.
Then stopped.
Dr. Helena Morris said:
“Do not shame storage that comes from uncertainty.”
We created a snack drawer.
Accessible.
Predictable.
Fruit.
Crackers.
Granola.
Cheese.
Water.
Not unlimited candy.
No one asked Sorrel to earn food.
For the first month, she checked the drawer constantly.
Then less.
At seven she stopped hiding bread.
At eight she started helping cook.
Her choice.
The first time she carried a serving tray again, I nearly crossed the room and took it from her.
She saw my face.
“Dad.”
“Sorry.”
“I can carry.”
“I know.”
She carried lemonade to the patio.
No apron.
No chain.
No audience waiting to judge obedience.
Just lemonade.
She spilled one glass.
Froze.
I grabbed a towel.
“Floor’s thirsty.”
She laughed.
That was healing.
Not avoiding trays forever.
May you like
Not forcing exposure.
Ordinary choice.
