Today, my children will have bread.

My oldest stands in the corner by the door. His still form hides the clenched fist I know is there. He is obedient, staring forward, but I can feel the anger radiating from him.

He hates me.

The man comes into my small room without knocking. He looks at me- lust and loathing in his every footstep. When he reaches me he spares my other children a glance.
“Them”, he asks with a slight nod.

“They will not turn”, I say softly. “There is nowhere else for them to go.”

He does not answer, roughly grabbing my clothes and turning me around.
“Face the ground like the dog you are”, he says brusquely.

There is little sound but my youngest crying and the rough breathing of the man behind me.

And then it is over. Again.

He pushes me to the floor and adjusts his clothing.

He throws a coin on the floor. His disgust is almost as high as his urgency to leave.

I do not look up until he turns and walks through the door.

When he is gone I grab the coin.

My children will eat today.