My husband’s five-year-old daughter had barely eaten since she moved in with us. Every night, she pushed her food around her plate, lowered her eyes, and whispered the same soft apology:
“I’m sorry, Mom… I’m not hungry.”
At first, I thought it was nervousness, or the adjustment of a child entering a new home.
“She’ll get used to it. It was worse with her biological mother. Just give her time.”
Something in his voice—a tired, practiced dismissal—never sat right with me.
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