The boy glanced toward the hallway.
I noticed.
I continued.
"And nobody is responsible for the argument between adults."
He looked down.
I turned toward my daughter.
"Sweetheart, would you like something to eat?"
She stared at me.
Then she whispered, "Am I allowed?"
My throat tightened.
"Of course."
She glanced toward the hallway.
I realized she was still waiting for her stepmother's permission.
I crouched beside her.
"You don't have to earn dinner by being perfect."
Her eyes filled.
Then she nodded.
I went into the kitchen.
There was plenty of food.
Chicken.
Mashed potatoes.
Vegetables.
Bread.
Enough for everyone.
The sight made me angry all over again.
My daughter hadn't gone hungry because we couldn't afford to feed her.
She had gone hungry because an adult had chosen to withhold food.
I prepared a small, appropriate plate and brought it to her.
She stared for a moment.
Then she reached for the spoon.
I sat beside her.
"Take your time."
She took a bite.
Then another.
After several minutes, she looked toward me.
"Are you going away again?"
I shook my head.
"Not tonight."
She continued eating.
Then she asked, "Will you still be here when I wake up?"
I swallowed.
"Yes, sweetheart."
Her expression softened.
For the first time since I'd entered the dining room, she smiled.
It was a small smile.
But I would remember it for the rest of my life.
The older boy finally spoke.
"Can I tell you something?"
I looked toward him.
"Of course."
He glanced toward the hallway again.
Then he lowered his voice.
"Mom says we're not supposed to talk about what happens at dinner."
My chest tightened.
I kept my expression calm.
"You're allowed to tell trusted adults when something worries you."
He nodded.
Then he looked toward my daughter.
"She gets hungry sometimes."
I swallowed.
His younger sister began crying quietly.
The boy noticed.
He reached toward her.
"It's okay."
I looked between them.
Neither child had eaten much since I arrived.
I took a breath.
"Would you both like to finish your dinner somewhere more comfortable?"
The boy nodded.
I moved their plates to the kitchen island.
Then I brought my daughter over in her booster seat so we could sit together.
I didn't ask the older children to describe every incident.
I didn't want to turn a family meal into an interrogation.