“I didn't come here to make you feel indebted,” she continued. “You offered me work. You gave me a room. You let me sit at your table. I wanted to do something for the children.”
“You've already done enough.”
“Perhaps.”
She looked toward the door through which the children had disappeared.
“But I don't think kindness is a ledger, Caleb. I don't think a person has to stop giving the moment they have given as much as they can afford.”
He shook his head.
“And I don't think a person should starve herself to prove she's kind.”
Adeline's face went pale.
For one terrible moment, he thought she might faint.
She gripped the counter, lowered her head, and breathed carefully through her nose.
Caleb crossed the kitchen.
“Adeline?”
“I'm all right.”
“You're not.”
“I haven't eaten enough this morning.”
He stared at her.
“You made all this food and haven't eaten?”
“I was busy.”
“Sit down.”
“Caleb—”
“Sit down.”
His voice was firmer than he intended, but she obeyed. He pulled out a chair and helped her into it, then placed a bowl of oatmeal in front of her.
She stared at the bowl.
“I don't need—”
“Yes, you do.”
He sat opposite her.
“Eat.”
For a moment, she looked as though she might argue. Then she picked up the spoon and began to eat, slowly at first, then with the unmistakable hunger of someone who had been trying to convince herself she could manage without food.
Caleb watched her, feeling something heavy and painful settle in his chest.
He had thought Adeline was simply generous.
He was beginning to understand that she had made a habit of treating her own needs as the least important thing in any room.
When she finished, he pushed the bread toward her.
She shook her head.
“I'm full.”
“Then save it for later.”
She glanced at him.
He softened his voice.
“You don't have to earn the right to eat in this house.”
Adeline looked down at her hands.
For a moment, he thought she might cry.
Instead, she whispered, “I know.”
But the words sounded less like certainty than a hope she was not yet able to believe.
Caleb rose and began clearing the table.
He had spent so long thinking about the burden of keeping his family alive that he had not considered how easily his own fear could blind him to someone else's suffering.
He would not make that mistake again.