My neighbor, Salome, is a single mom with two little kids, maybe four and six years old. I see them in the hallway sometimes, always looking a bit grubby, but sweet. Last week, Salome knocked on my door, looking frantic.
She said she had a last-minute job interview and asked if I could watch the kids for just an hour. I felt bad for her, so I agreed. An hour turned into three.
I texted, I called—no answer. I was starting to get seriously worried. The kids were quiet, too quiet.
The older one, Adrian, just stared at the TV, while the little girl colored in a beat-up coloring book. They didn’t ask for snacks or anything. Finally, at almost midnight, Salome stumbled home.
She didn’t even apologize, just mumbled something about her car breaking down and scooped up the sleeping kids. The whole thing felt off. This morning, I saw her leave early again, all dressed up.
A few hours later, I heard a small tapping sound at my door. It was Adrian, the little boy. His eyes were wide and he was shivering, even though it wasn’t cold.
“Can I have some bread?” he whispered. “Mommy turned the fridge off before she left.” I brought him inside, my mind racing. Turned the fridge off?
Who does that? I asked him where his little sister was, and he just pointed back toward their dark apartment. That’s when I noticed the note pinned to his shirt.
It was written in scrawled, frantic handwriting. “If anything happens, go next door. Miss Cara will help you.”
I didn’t even know Salome knew my name.
I grabbed my keys and followed Adrian back into the apartment. The door creaked open with a soft push. Inside, the smell hit me first—stale air, faintly sour, like spoiled milk and wet laundry.
The lights didn’t work. I flicked the switch, nothing. The power had been cut.
The apartment was nearly empty. Just a couch, a tiny TV sitting on the floor, and some dirty dishes stacked in the sink. On the living room floor, little Lottie was curled up in a pink hoodie, hugging a stuffed rabbit.
She looked up when I walked in and gave a sleepy smile. “Hi.”
I carried her out and brought her back to my place. I made them both a sandwich and warmed up some soup.
They ate like they hadn’t eaten in days. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I didn’t know Salome well.
We’d exchanged a few hellos, and I knew she worked long hours, but this was different. You don’t leave little kids in a powerless apartment with no food. I decided to give her one last chance to explain.
When she came home later that night, I was already standing in front of her door with both kids. She looked startled. “They’re fine, aren’t they?”
“Salome,” I said, keeping my voice low but firm.
“There’s no power. No food. Adrian came asking for bread.
That’s not okay.”
She sighed and ran her hands through her hair. “I didn’t have a choice. My paycheck didn’t come through, and they shut off everything.
I had to take a job in the city—cash only. I can’t leave them at daycare if I can’t pay. I figured they’d be okay just sleeping.”
I stood there, not knowing what to say.
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