Sarah visited Walter every day while he was hospitalized, even though she had barely slept herself. When he finally returned home, she had already cleaned his house, changed his bedsheets, stocked his refrigerator, and prepared a large pot of chicken soup. Walter stood in his kitchen doorway, leaning on his cane, unable to understand why someone with so many responsibilities would do so much for him. “You have three children to look after,” he told her. “You shouldn’t be wasting your time taking care of an old man.” Sarah smiled. “You’re not wasting my time, Mr. Brennan. Someone has to make sure you’re eating properly.” From that evening onward, she brought him dinner almost every day. Sometimes it was chicken and rice, sometimes spaghetti with meat sauce, beef stew, or potato soup. Whenever Walter offered her money, she refused. “If you try to pay me again, I’m going to stop bringing you dessert,” she joked. Walter would laugh, but he never stopped trying to find a way to repay her kindness.
One evening, Sarah brought him a container of spaghetti and a slice of homemade bread. Walter noticed how tired she looked and asked whether she had eaten. She smiled and said she wasn’t hungry. He didn’t think much of it until a few days later, when her ten-year-old daughter Hazel delivered his dinner because Sarah was running late for work. Walter thanked her and asked whether her mother had eaten. Hazel shook her head. “Mom says we need the food more because we’re still growing. Grown-ups don’t need as much.” Walter looked down at the generous portion in his hands. There was a large meatball on top, and suddenly he understood. Those weren’t leftovers. Sarah had been giving him her own dinner and then going to clean offices all night on an empty stomach. That night, Walter sat at his kitchen table until four in the morning, remembering his childhood during the Great Depression. His mother had raised seven children with almost nothing. She filled their plates every night and sat with an empty plate, pretending she wasn’t hungry. He had believed her when he was little. Now he understood what that sacrifice had cost her.
