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as the girl—Lizie—sat at our table, I noticed something different. She didn’t eat like a child enjoying a meal; she ate carefully, almost cautiously, as if she didn’t trust there would be more. My daughter, Sam, watched me closely, silently asking for understanding. When I later questioned her, she told me Lizie had barely eaten all day and had even become faint at school. In that moment, my frustration faded, replaced by something deeper—perspective. I realized that what I called “not enough” might still be more than someone else had.
