The grief had been suffocating, leaving her barely able to breathe under the weight of student loans, rent, and the overwhelming responsibility of surviving. That night, with her fridge empty and pantry bare, she had a list of essentials: bread, eggs, maybe some pasta. Nothing extravagant. Her inner voice urged her forward, whispering the familiar words her mother had taught her: “Tough times don’t last, but tough people do.” Inside the fluorescent-lit store, Emma shuffled through the aisles, counting pennies in her head. She picked up a loaf of bread, a carton of eggs, and a can of her mother’s favorite tomato soup, her mind wandering to memories of her mother turning meager ingredients into comforting meals. She felt a pang of loneliness as she whispered, “I wish you were here, Mom.”
