help,” my dad snapped. “It means we’ve failed.” His voice had changed, too. It was sharp and hard. “We have not failed. We are doing the best we can.” My mom gave a frustrated groan. “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans, Tom.” “Really?” My dad was yelling. “So now we’re resorting to fortune cookie wisdom? Like that’s going to help put food in our kids’ mouths?” “Well, refusing to ask for help isn’t going to.” “We have asked for help, Sara. We’ve been to that food pantry more times than I care to admit. But in the end, this is my—our—problem to solve,” my dad
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