Mum’s sourdough

Cracking his wallet, Ross watched helplessly as a $50 note fell and fluttered beneath the fridge.

Impulsively, he lifted its front end before realising he needed a wedge.

“Milly!” he called, summoning his eight-year-old. “Get me something brick-like to stick under here. Hurry!”

Milly soon presented him with a loaf of her mother’s homemade sourdough.

Ross, though straining with the weight, paused for a long beat before telling Milly to place it under the fridge.

That afternoon, on a walk, he broke the $50 buying them ice-creams. He winked as she slurped. “Our little secret,” he said.

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