And now, two boys who looked exactly like her sons were standing at her table asking for scraps.

Her silver fork slipped from her numb fingers and clattered onto the china plate. The sound was sharp, violent in the sudden silence of her world.

“Wh–what did you say?” she whispered, her voice a reedy, unfamiliar sound.

The taller twin flinched at the sharp sound of the fork, then straightened his small shoulders. “We’re sorry, ma’am,” he said quickly, his voice tense with a practiced apology that broke her heart. “We’re just… we’re hungry. We don’t want money. Just the food you’re not eating.”