It is 10pm.
We prepare for bed as the woman fears that her husband’s bad day will bring another night of abuse.
We read to our children and as they fall asleep another child struggles against the pain of an empty stomach.
We crawl into our warm beds as the man on the corner shivers as he looks for a spot to safely spend the night.
We pull at our blankets for comfort as the teen shamefully keeps his depression secret between the sheets.
We drift off to sleep as a military spouse lies anxiously awake next to an empty space, feeling so alone.
The woman, the child, the man, the teen, the spouse…Each has a story. And it matters.