The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, purple shadows across the vast peanut fields. Twelve-year-old Eddie, lean and quick, moved with practiced stealth, his worn boots barely disturbing the dried peanut vines. Tonight, like many nights since his father's death, he was providing. His small, red wagon waited at the edge of the woods, a silent accomplice. He knew the farmer wouldn't miss a few peanuts from the rows closest to the road; they had plenty.

He worked swiftly, pulling the earthy pods from their vines, his mind already on the next day: the boiling pot, the roadside stand, and the precious coins that would buy food his garden couldn't supply. The thought of his blind mother and little sister, Carol, waiting at home, fueled his determination. This was his burden, his responsibility.

As the last light faded, he carefully loaded his wagon, the faint rustle of the leaves the only sound in the growing darkness. A flicker of movement at the far end of the field caught his eye – perhaps a rabbit, a future meal. He made a mental note, then tugged his wagon through the familiar, winding path of the woods, heading home.