The young man hasn't slept all night. He worked late into the evening at the construction site then woke at dawn to study. A scholarship kept him afloat, but it wasn't enough—not when he had to be a father, too.[1]
His son was only four, but he already started to notice things.
The young man couldn't help it. He wanted to show a good example, but his eyes were often red in the morning from lack of sleep, his hands trembled when he tied his shoes from exhaustion, and he had become skinnier.
That day, they passed by a new restaurant in the neighborhood—a fried chicken place. The golden scent of crispy batter lingered in the air, wafting through their nostrils. The boy's small legs slowed, just for a second, before he kept walking.
His father stopped.
"Do you want to eat there?" he asked.
The boy shook his head quickly.
But his father crouched in front of him, brushing a hand over his soft hair. He smiled, appearing tired but knowing.
