Invisible Choices

The pale, plain, brown-haired woman stood rigidly in front of the large red sign: CVS.

This wasn’t her usual CVS—no, she had driven fifteen miles for this one. Somewhere unfamiliar. Somewhere she could pretend, just for a moment, that she wasn’t herself. That she wasn’t the kind of woman who had to do this. That she wasn’t the kind of mother who had no other choice.

Her fingers twitched toward her necklace, the small pendant twisting and turning in her grasp as her foot jiggled violently. She couldn’t do this. It was wrong. Against everything she’d been taught.

She had never even stolen a candy bar as a child. When she was eight, she’d accidentally walked out of a store with a pack of gum in her hand. The moment she realized, she ran back inside, cheeks burning, and placed it on the counter. The cashier had chuckled, told her she was honest. Told her it was a good thing. Told her it mattered.

Would that same cashier, wherever he was now, still say she was a good person? Would he understand that sometimes good people had to do bad things?

She swallowed hard.

But then, as if controlled by some unseen force, her body stiffened. She exhaled through her nose, ran long, bony fingers through her tangled hair, and forced a smile onto her lips—something that might pass as real if you didn’t look too closely.

Nobody did.

She slipped inside, unnoticed, her presence dissolving into the fluorescent glow. The anonymity soothed her. No judgmental stares. No one from the neighborhood. No one who knew her from before, when she had a house instead of an apartment, when she had a husband instead of an echoing silence, when she had money instead of two crumpled five-dollar bills in her pocket and a baby crying for food back home.

Her sneakers squeaked softly against the linoleum as she wandered the aisles, letting herself be distracted, pretending for just a moment that this was a normal trip. That she wasn’t here for what she was about to do. Her eyes lingered too long on a tube of Maybelline mascara, the kind all the beauty influencers swore by. She could almost feel the weight of it in her hands, the soft hum of a better life where she could afford something so frivolous. But of course, she couldn’t.

Her fingers trailed across a pack of gum, then over a heap of misplaced Hawaiian rolls. Focus.

And then—there it was.

The reason she was here.

The baby formula sat on the shelf, staring back at her, unblinking. The price tag screamed louder than anything: $32.49.

A lump formed in her throat.

She reached up with a trembling hand. The cool plastic felt heavier than it should. Her wedding finger ached, empty where her diamond-studded ring used to be.

One breath in. One breath out. Do it.

Her fingers gripped the canister tighter. For a moment, she hesitated. If she got caught—

No. She wouldn’t get caught. She had been careful. Had checked the cameras. Had counted the employees.

Do it.

In one swift motion, she shoved the container into her backpack and yanked the zipper shut. Her heart pounded, a wild drumbeat in her ears, drowning out the store’s soft pop music. She pulled her phone from her pocket and stared at it, pretending to check messages, pretending she belonged here, pretending she wasn’t shaking apart at the seams.

She turned. Walked. Calmly. Her fingers rushed back to her necklace, twisting, turning, praying.

Nobody stopped her.

With each step, her legs grew weaker. Her stomach twisted itself into knots.

As she stepped through the automatic doors, she was already regretting it. Not because she had done it—but because she knew she’d be back.

The drive home was silent except for the hum of her old sedan and the rhythmic patter of rain against the windshield. She gripped the steering wheel tight enough for her knuckles to pale, her mind racing with what-ifs. What if someone had seen? What if they checked the cameras? What if the police knocked on her door tomorrow?

What if she had no choice but to do it again in two weeks?

Her throat tightened.

She pulled into the apartment complex, killing the engine before resting her forehead against the steering wheel. She could hear him crying from the parking lot, a thin, desperate sound that sliced straight through her.

She climbed the stairs two at a time, swinging the door open to find her sister bouncing the baby on her hip, exhaustion written all over her face.

"Finally," her sister sighed, shifting the wailing infant into her arms. "Did you get it?"

She swallowed. Nodded. Unzipped her bag and pulled out the formula, setting it on the counter like it weighed a thousand pounds. Her sister grabbed it without hesitation, already moving to the kitchen.

The crying stopped minutes later, replaced with soft, satisfied sucking.

The woman exhaled, the weight in her chest loosening just a fraction.

"Did you have to go all the way across town?" her sister called from the kitchen.

"Yeah," she murmured. "Didn’t want to risk it."

Her sister peeked around the corner, expression unreadable. "You should apply for assistance again. Maybe this time—"

"They already denied me." She dropped onto the couch, rubbing her temples. "Too many applications. Not enough funding. That’s what they told me."

Her sister didn’t respond. Didn’t need to. They both knew what that meant.

The woman leaned back, closing her eyes, exhaustion pulling at her limbs. She didn’t want to think about tomorrow. Didn’t want to think about next week. Didn’t want to think about the day she might not be lucky enough to walk out of that store.

But she knew she would.

She had to.

Because hunger wasn’t patient. And desperation didn’t care about morality.

She reached for her necklace again, feeling the worn metal press against her fingertips, and whispered a silent apology to whatever remained of the person she used to be.

In two weeks, she’d be back.