Chapter 7 - Hunger in the Shadows
But something deep in my gut, a primal grandmotherly instinct, screamed that things were terribly wrong. I started noticing that the children were always silently hovering around the kitchen.
They would stand by the doorframe, their little hands clutching their stomachs, staring longingly at the pantry doors, but they never dared to open them. It was as if the cupboards were guarded by invisible demons.
Then came the day that truly sounded the alarm. I was walking out to the patio and found Leo, the youngest, sitting in the dirt, crying softly. It wasn't a tantrum cry; it was a weak, pathetic whimper of genuine distress. I approached carefully, leaning heavily on my wooden cane, my joints protesting every step.
"What's wrong, my beautiful boy? Why are you crying?" I asked gently, stroking his messy hair.
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He looked up at me with his big, impossibly sad eyes, tears cutting clean tracks through the dust on his cheeks.
"I'm hungry, Grandma," he said, his tiny voice breaking.
