We were broke, surviving on rice and solar lights. My husband could barely eat due to stress. I handled the bills, the meals — everything — until the day I couldn’t anymore.
One slip, one sentence, and the life we’d built on scraps started to unravel.
The solar-powered garden lights from the dollar store that Eli had rigged up cast a yellowish glow over our dinner table, doing nothing to make the rice and beans in our bowls look more appetizing.
I chewed without tasting, my mind half-focused on gas money math. A $75 urgent care visit earlier that month for a UTI I picked up had knocked our budget sideways.
Across from me, Eli picked at his food, barely touching it.
“You didn’t eat lunch again, did you?” I asked, watching how loosely his T-shirt hung on his frame.
Eli shrugged, eyes not meeting mine.
“Forgot. Then I wasn’t hungry.”
He tried to smile, but it didn’t quite land.
“You need to eat,” I said softly.
“I will. I am.” He took a deliberate bite as if to prove it, then shut his eyes and swallowed as though it pained him to do so.
“Is the nausea bad?” I asked softly.
He sighed and went back to pushing beans around.
“Another bill arrived today. That construction guy who said he needed someone to assist his electrician is suddenly unavailable every time I go to the site to see him…”
In other words, yes, the nausea was bad. Stress and anxiety had his belly in knots, but at least he was getting something into his body.
I glanced over at the bills piled up on the table near the front door, noting the new envelope on the top of the pile.
Electric, due in three days; rent, due in ten; student loan payment, already 15 days late; and now, whatever this new bill was for.
My paralegal studies degree hung on the wall above them, a two-year-old piece of paper that had yet to earn its keep.
“On the plus side, I got a busted laptop I think I can fix up,” Eli said, breaking the silence.
“It’s not charging. The guy at the construction site was gonna throw it out. If I get it running, we could sell it for $200, maybe.”
I nodded, hoping my smile looked encouraging.
“That would be great.”
That was Eli; always finding something to work with, always hopeful.
Even with his trade school dreams derailed by his mom’s illness two years ago, he never stopped believing things would work out.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇
