Right as my son said “Mummy, let’s eat the bread!” I felt something twist in my chest. I told him “No”—firmly enough to scare him. Hours later, my friend returned the bread untouched… and what she confessed changed everything.

The bread arrived on an ordinary Saturday afternoon.

My little boy came running into the house, two hands wrapped around a beautifully packaged loaf with a golden ribbon so shiny it caught the light as he moved.

“Mummy, look! Our neighbor gave us this!”

It was lovely — too lovely.
Perfect shape, perfect wrapping, perfect timing.
Something in me tightened, a small instinctive tug in my chest.

“Thank her for me,” I said, forcing a smile.
But when Kene asked, “Can we eat it?”
I heard myself say, “Not now, sweetheart.”

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