Once upon a time, there was just a little girl named Greta. She loved cake. Maybe she loved it more than anything else in the whole wide world. Well, maybe she loved her grandmother a teeny-tiny bit more, but only because Grandmother baked the very best red velvet cake anyone ever tasted. Greta loved this cake so much she ate it for each of her 11 birthdays and spent the other 364 days of the year, every year, dreaming of fluffy, red cake with sweet and tangy frosting. On the day of her 12th birthday, Greta woke up salivating. Downstairs, Grandmother would be baking. She’d be leveling the flour, sifting the cocoa powder, beating the eggs. If Greta hurried, she might get to lick the bowl clean. Putting on her favourite hoodie, she clambered down the stairs. But when Greta reached the kitchen, Grandmother wasn’t there. And neither was her cake. “Where is Grandmother?” asked Greta. “Happy birthday,” said her mother, setting a bottle of milk on the table for breakfast. Greta shook her head. “Where is Grandmother? Where is my cake?” Mother smiled sadly. “I’m sorry, my dear. But your grandmother is very sick. She’s stuck at home in bed. She can’t make your cake this year.”

But no, Mother had witnessed a thousand horrors by now. It would bore her. So instead, Greta said, “OK.” Mother said, “After breakfast, you will visit your grandmother. She needs someone to help her until she gets back on her feet.” “Yes, Mother,” said Greta, and the two sat down to eat.

hoping her words would be like one more provision in the backpack her daughter carried.

Greta figured her 12th could be worse. She would enjoy the walk to Grandmother’s house, breathing the sweet spring air and listening to the birds.

But then, Greta heard it: the unmistakable sound of a stomach rumbling. The fox tried to muffle it with a particularly hearty laugh, but Greta heard it clear enough.

But the two continued on, quietly now, the only sound between them an occasional groan from the fox’s belly, which Greta chose to ignore.

“Aw, man.” The bear looked sad. Greta couldn’t tell if it was because of her grandmother’s ill health or his empty stomach, but she soon had her answer. “Are you sure I can’t have any of the food in your bag?” The bear pleaded just a little. Greta shook her head. “No.” “Fine. I promise I won’t eat any of your food. But I’m really, really hungry.” Just then, the bear's stomach groaned. “Yes, I imagine bears must feel hungry quite often,” Greta said. The bear nodded. “You have no idea.” “I have some,” Greta said. “I’ve already dealt with one animal in these woods who couldn’t keep his teeth to himself.”

It was mid-afternoon when Greta decided she needed to pee. She hadn't gone since she'd left home sometime after breakfast. Greta walked off the path and...

dark outside, and inside none of the lights were on.

In the kitchen, Greta set the food on the counter. Grandmother had tried to get out of bed, but Greta told her to rest. She would make her something to eat. Greta looked at the bread, eggs, and milk. "French toast," she thought.

Greta tried to fall asleep in the rocking chair, but it was too uncomfortable. In the middle of the night, she crawled into bed with her grandmother like she had when she was just a little girl. There wasn’t much room, but there Greta slept.