As I walked closer, I noticed her yellow sweatshirt. It was worn thin at the elbows, the cuffs gray with dirt. Her sleeves were pulled all the way down, covering her hands.

“Toby,” I called out softly.

My son looked up, his face turning pale. He immediately stood up, stepping slightly in front of Lily as if to shield her. He looked like he thought he was in deep trouble.

“Mom, please don’t be mad,” Toby whispered, his eyes swimming with tears. “I’m sorry I lied about eating the apples.”

I knelt down on the cold asphalt, my knees cracking. I looked at Lily. She had wide, hollow brown eyes that looked far too old for her face. When she saw me, she pulled the blue lunchbox closer to her chest and shrank back against the brick wall.

“I’m not mad, sweetheart,” I said, looking at my son. “But I need to know why you’re giving your lunch away.”

Toby looked at Lily, then back at me. He leaned in, his warm breath smelling faintly of the cinnamon crackers I had packed him the day before.

“She told me her dad locks the fridge at night,” Toby whispered. “And she said if she asks for food, he makes her sleep in the cold room.”

I stopped breathing for a few seconds. I didn’t notice I was holding my breath until my chest started to hurt. I looked at Lily’s wrists. One of her sleeves had ridden up slightly, revealing a dark, yellowish-purple ring around her small bone. It looked exactly like the shape of an adult’s hand.

I got up, walked back to my car, and sat in the driver’s seat with the engine running. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely press the numbers on my phone screen. I called Child Protective Services.

“I need someone at 142 Elm Street immediately,” I told the operator, my voice cracking. “There is a little girl starving, and her father is locking up the food.”

The caseworker, Sandra, met me at the school parking lot 40 minutes later. She looked like she had been doing this job for thirty years. Her face was lined with exhaustion, and her eyes were heavy, but her jaw was set. She told me to follow her in my car.

We drove to a small, neglected green ranch house on the edge of town. The siding was covered in green mold, and the front porch steps were visibly rotting. It was the kind of house people drove past quickly.