She grabbed the crumpled list from the passenger seat and stared at it as if it might rearrange itself into cheaper items.
Milk. Eggs. Bread. Peanut butter. Rice. Beans. Fruit if possible. Diapers—just one pack.
That last one had a question mark beside it. Not because she didn’t need them, but because she didn’t know how to make the math work.
Mara got out of the car and started toward the sliding doors.
Halfway there, she paused to press a hand to her belly, not for show, not for sentiment, but because the baby had kicked hard enough to make her wince. A little reminder. A little insistence. Like the child was tapping from the inside, demanding to be counted.
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