Chapter Text
Joyce wakes up before the boys, like she almost always does.
The house is quiet, that fragile kind of quiet that only exists before the day starts asking for things.
She pulls on her sweater and walks barefoot into the kitchen, already running through impossible lists in her head—what to pay first, who to call, what can be stretched a little longer.
She opens the refrigerator.
Nothing.
She knew there wouldn’t be, but it still hurts.
She closes the door and then she sees it: the plate in the sink. A few crumbs. Smears of peanut butter.
The napkin folded neatly, like someone tried to erase the evidence.
Joyce freezes.
She doesn’t need long to understand.
She thinks back to the night before.
The way Jonathan said he’d already eaten—too quickly. The relief she felt. How easy it was to accept the lie because she needed to believe it.
Her lips press together.
—Jonathan… —she whispers, love and guilt burning in her chest.
She goes upstairs quietly, careful not to wake them too suddenly. Jonathan’s bedroom door is slightly open.
She sees them together.
Will asleep, curled against his brother.
Jonathan awake, staring at the ceiling like rest never quite reaches him.
His arm is wrapped around Will instinctively, protectively.
Joyce rests her hand on the doorframe.
—Jonathan —she says softly.
He startles just a little.
—Mom?
She steps inside and sits on the edge of the bed, brushing his hair back the way she used to when he was little.
—You didn’t eat last night —she says, not accusing.
Jonathan drops his gaze.
—I—
—I know —she interrupts gently—. I knew before you said anything.
Silence.
Will shifts slightly but doesn’t wake.
Joyce takes Jonathan’s hand in both of hers. It feels thinner than it should.
—You don’t have to lie to protect me —she says, her voice breaking—. I’m supposed to protect you.
Jonathan swallows.
—I didn’t want you to worry —he admits—. You already do so much.
Joyce closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them, there are tears there—but also resolve.
—Listen to me —she says—. I never, ever want you to be hungry so I can feel better.
Jonathan nods, defeated.
—I’m sorry.
Joyce pulls him into a careful hug, mindful not to wake Will.
—No —she whispers into his hair—. Thank you for taking care of your brother. But from now on, we do it together. All three of us.
Jonathan lets himself rest his forehead against her shoulder.
—I promise I’ll tell you the truth.
—And I promise I’ll find a way —Joyce replies—. We always do.
She stands and heads for the door.
—I’m going out early —she adds—. When you wake up, there’ll be something warm. Not much… but enough.
Jonathan smiles for the first time that morning.
Joyce turns off the light as she leaves.
The house is still small.
The bills are still waiting.
But love—
love is never missing.