Marie watched as the father and son got in their car. The father looked awful. Stubble littered his jaw. Black rimmed glasses knelt on a bloody nose. It didn't look healthy. Dried blood sat on his upper lip.
The son didn't look any better. His eyes were sunken. The dark eyes were brimming with sorrow. They contrasted with snow white skin.
Marie's heart ached at the sight. It hurt her to know people had it that bad. At least they could afford a car. Poverty is a trap.
She new the pain from esperience. It happened as a child. From very young she had to be careful about how much she ate. Most days, dinner would be a small tin of peppa pig pasta shapes on toast. Pudding was a treat for when they had extra money. Her mum would only eat when Marie had left food on her plate.
She guessed that it was the reason she got into the social care jobs. She didn't want anyone else to suffer the way she and her mum had.
This is pretty shit but what can I do? I'm not the greatest at writing. I leave that to a certain girl I have met. (you know who you are and you are better no matter what you say)
