Кадр выше наш. Полное медиа с Facebook запрошено — подставим его сюда, как только приедет.
💔😢 I WAS €2.40 SHORT AT THE CHECKOUT. PEOPLE BEHIND ME WERE SIGHING, THE CASHIER WAS LOOKING PAST ME, AND I JUST STOOD THERE HOLDING MY PHONE WISHING I COULD DISAPPEAR. My name is Ana. I'm 32 and I live in Cork with my seven-year-old son, Jack. I'm raising him on my own and I work in a clothes shop. It's not the worst job in the world. But there's something soul-destroying about spending all day folding other people's clothes, hanging up new jackets, smiling at customers and helping them choose things you couldn't afford yourself. My wages come in. And almost immediately they're gone again. Rent. Electricity. Broadband. Getting to and from work. Food. School stuff. A new pair of runners because Jack somehow grew out of the old ones almost overnight. From the outside, we probably look completely fine. The flat is clean. Jack has decent clothes. There's food on the table. He never sees me sitting with my banking app open, counting what's left and working out how many days there are until payday. But I do it. Every month. The worst week started when another letter arrived about an old debt I'd been carrying since the winter. I'd already fallen behind. If I didn't get it sorted, there would be more fees, more calls and eventually collections. That evening I was sitting at the kitchen table with the letter in front of me when Jack came out of his room in his pyjamas. “Mam, Conor started swimming. Can I do it too?” He already knew everything about it. What day they trained. Which kids from school were going. He'd even dug his old swimming goggles out of a drawer. I said: “Let me have a look, alright?” He nodded and went back to his room. And I just sat there with a lump in my throat. Because I knew exactly what “let me have a look” really meant. **I can't afford it right now.** Two days later I stopped at Dunnes after work. I only needed a few things for dinner. Pasta. Milk. Bread. Yoghurts for Jack. And the cheapest apples I cou