I grew up in a very poor household. When I was 13, I went to a classmate’s house and ended up staying for dinner. The sight of the golden roast on their table made my mouth water.
As everyone began eating, I took a small bite, but her mother’s sharp gaze immediately made me freeze. She looked at me and said, “Did you seriously take that little? That’s not nearly enough!”
Before I could say anything, she grabbed my plate and piled it with more food. I was taken aback but also touched—she seemed to understand just how much that meal meant to me. The food was incredible, and I savored every bite. But as I ate, I could feel everyone’s eyes on me.
The next day, when I came home from school, I was surprised to see my friend’s mom at our house. It was the first time she and my mom had met. My mom looked a little embarrassed, her face red.
She turned to me and said, “Mrs. Cooper brought us a Sunday roast because she knew how much you loved it.” When I walked into the kitchen, I was amazed to see our fridge stocked with fresh produce and plenty of food.
My mom, though shy and a bit embarrassed, couldn’t hide her happiness.
Over time, my mom and Mrs. Cooper grew close. She started visiting us regularly with her family, and what had started as a simple meal blossomed into a beautiful friendship that I’ll always remember.