We were flat broke. Our days felt like endless struggles—living on rice and the faint glow of cheap solar lights. My husband, Eli, was so stressed he barely ate. Every day, I handled the bills, the meals, everything—until one day, I couldn’t anymore. Just one slip, one small comment, and everything we’d built so far started to fall apart.
The garden lights from the dollar store, rigged up by Eli, cast a dull yellow glow over our dinner table. It didn’t help make the rice and beans on our plates look any better. They looked plain, sad almost. I ate without tasting, my mind racing with numbers—gas money, bills, rent. A big $75 urgent care visit earlier that month for a UTI we couldn’t really afford had already knocked our budget sideways.
Across from me, Eli was picking at his food, almost not eating at all.
“You didn’t eat lunch again, did you?” I asked softly, watching how his T-shirt hung loosely on him, like he was shrinking.
Eli shrugged, eyes shifting away. “Forgot. Then I wasn’t hungry.”
He tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It was a tired, hollow thing that didn’t fool anyone.
“You need to eat,” I said, voice gentle but firm.
“I will. I’m going to,” he promised, taking a small bite—deliberate, slow, like it hurt. His face was a mask hiding so much pain.
“Is the nausea bad?” I asked, worried.
He sighed deeply, fidgeting with his beans. “Another bill arrived today. That construction guy who wanted help with his electrician work… he’s always ‘unavailable’ now. Every time I go to the site, he’s not around.”
In other words, Eli’s stomach was tied in knots from stress and anxiety. Still, he was trying. Trying to eat, trying to stay hopeful. At least, he managed some food.
I glanced at the mountain of bills piled up on the table near the door—the electric bill due in three days, rent in ten, his student loan overdue by fifteen days, and now… this new, mysterious bill.
My degree in paralegal studies hung on the wall, collecting dust. Two years old but with no job in sight. It felt like a useless piece of paper most days.
“On a bright note,” Eli said, trying to change the subject, “I managed to fix up that busted laptop. It wasn’t charging, but the guy at the site was just going to toss it. If I get it working… we could sell it for, what? Two hundred?”
I forced a small smile—hopeful, even if exhaustion weighed on me. “That’d help a lot.”
That was Eli. Always trying. Always hopeful. Even after his dreams of trade school were derailed two years ago because of his mom’s illness, he never stopped believing things could get better.
I loved that—sometimes more than I loved myself. But I was tired, too.
He finally pushed away his plate, mostly untouched, knowing I’d probably save the rest for him to forget to take tomorrow.
After washing the dishes, I pulled out the bills, grabbed our battered notebook, and sank into the secondhand couch beside him. The numbers looked the same—they hadn’t moved.
“We’ll make it,” Eli said softly, not looking up from the tiny circuit board he was examining.
I nodded, my hope flickering. We always made it… barely. I hustled on every shift I could, kept track of every penny, and learned to say no to small pleasures.
Later, I noticed Eli’s breathing slow as he sat beside me—he had fallen asleep, exhausted from a day of fixing things for people who paid him peanuts. Carefully, I guided his head onto my lap. He didn’t wake, just shifted and mumbled something unintelligible.
How did we get here? Two years out of school, living on beans and rice, counting pennies, crashing from exhaustion. It wasn’t what we dreamed of. Not even close.
But Eli, ever the optimist, had managed to fix that laptop. We sold it for $150—immediately gone to bills, but a small win.
The next day, I came home to chaos. PC parts spilled across the living room like some kind of tech crime scene. Eli sat cross-legged in the middle, surrounded by wires, looking miserable.
“I thought I had it,” he mumbled as I stepped inside.
I set down my bag and coat, taking in the mess. “Another computer? Didn’t you just fix one yesterday?”
He nodded, shoulders slumped. “I told Mrs. Chen I could fix her desktop. It was just the power supply… Should’ve been easy. But somehow, I think I fried the motherboard.”
I sat next to him, careful not to disturb the chaos of screws and tiny parts. “Can you fix it?”
His voice was hollow. “Not without parts I don’t have. She paid me fifty dollars upfront. I promised I’d fix it today.”
My heart skipped. “Fifty dollars? Eli, that’s a lot for us right now. What can we do?”
He shook his head slowly. “She trusted me. I let her down.”
A wave of frustration and tears threatened to overwhelm me. I pressed my palms against my eyes, fighting back the hurt.
And then, I snapped. Maybe it was exhaustion, or stress—I don’t know. I blurted out.
“How could you do this? I’m so tired, Eli. I handle everything—bills, food, your mood—and now I can’t even count on you.” My voice broke. “We needed that fifty dollars. It could have paid a bill… I can’t keep doing everything myself.”
The words hit him hard. Hurt flashed in his eyes, and I saw the pain I’d caused. I didn’t mean to betray him, but I was drowning.
He looked away, then quietly got up and walked out, closing the door so softly I barely heard it.
I spent the night crying next to the disassembled computer, clutching a notebook filled with crossed-out job listings. Did I just ruin the best thing in my life?
Later that night, Eli came home late. I pretended to sleep, but I felt him pause by the bed, gently pull the blanket over me, then slip onto the couch in the living room.
The next few days were tense. We tiptoed around each other, like dancers on strange music. He took on extra handyman jobs, working late. I picked up more cleaning clients, applying to jobs I was overqualified for, just to keep us afloat. Exhausted but silent about the pain.
Then, one Thursday, I got a call from Mrs. Hernandez downstairs. Her voice was urgent: “Eli collapsed. I found him outside my apartment. He’s in urgent care now.”
My heart stopped. I dropped my cleaning supplies and rushed out without telling a soul.
When I arrived at the clinic, there he was—pale, embarrassed, with an IV in his arm.
“I’m fine,” he said quickly as I entered. “Just got dizzy for a second.”
But the doctor told a different story: stress, low blood sugar, exhaustion. She looked at Eli sternly.
“When was the last time you ate a proper meal?” she asked.
Eli avoided her gaze. “I… don’t remember.”
I mumbled, “He can’t eat when he’s stressed. It just comes back up.”
We couldn’t afford another bill, so I handed over my last twenty dollars, forcing a brave smile. Eli looked guilty, ashamed.
Back at home, I helped him into bed. His voice was meek: “You scared me.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, eyes tired. “For everything.”
“I’m sorry too,” I said, squeezing his hand. “For what I said the other night.”
He finally looked at me, the tiredness in his eyes mixed with something else—hope, maybe.
“You weren’t wrong,” he said softly.
“I wasn’t right,” I admitted. “But we’re a team, Eli. I forgot that for a while.”
He nodded, quiet. Then, I made a simple soup from what little we had. He ate every spoonful, and I watched him, relieved.
That night, I widened my job search beyond paralegal listings—something still in my field but more flexible. I found a remote administrative job. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real.
A week later, after a day full of interviews and rejections, I climbed the stairs home. I thought I’d find Eli sleeping, but instead, there was a note: “Fire escape. Now.”
A smile crept onto my face. Despite everything, he was still surprising me.
Outside our bedroom window, there was a small picnic set: two simple sandwiches, a blanket, and some wildflowers in a mug.
“They were growing on the sidewalk,” Eli grinned, holding up the flowers. “Technically, not stealing.”
I sat next to him, taking the offered sandwich. “Thank you,” I whispered.
We ate quietly, watching the sunset paint our city in shades of orange and pink. For the first time in weeks, the heavy knot in my chest loosened.
“I applied for a new job last week,” I said finally. “Not a paralegal. An admin job for a consulting firm. Remote work.”
Eli looked at me, curious. “How do you feel about that?”
I shrugged. “Like I’m giving up on my studies. Like I might be changing paths.”
He squeezed my hand. “You already do so much around here—more than most people do running offices.”
That made me laugh. “Maybe you’re right.”
He looked at me seriously. “We’ll be okay, babe. Somehow.”
And, somehow, I believed him.
Then came the email on a Tuesday morning. “We are pleased to offer you the position of Administrative Coordinator…” I read it three times, making sure I wasn’t dreaming. A real job, with benefits, a paycheck.
Two weeks later, my first paycheck arrived. We went grocery shopping—not just rice and beans, but fresh vegetables, meat, and spices. Standing in line, I wanted to flinch at how much it was. But this time, I paid.
Back home, Eli looked at the bags and suddenly started crying. I reached over, took his hand, and tears welled in my eyes too.
“We can eat real food now,” he whispered.
“And next month,” I promised, “we’re sending you back to trade school—that dream of yours. To finish what you started.”
He looked at me, surprised. “Dani, we can’t afford that.”
“We will,” I said. “I did the math. We can do this now.”
I drove us home, both of us stealing quick glances at the groceries, like they might disappear.
That night, the solar lights came down, the lamps went on, and our home felt warm again—more than just a bunker filled with scarcity.
Six weeks after I started the new job, we sat down to a small dinner—bread, roasted vegetables, seasoned meat. I watched Eli eat eagerly, and tears welled up in my eyes.
His face looked fuller, brighter. He was starting to look like himself again. He even snacked—they all thought it was small, but to us, it was everything.
“I used to count every grain of rice,” I whispered, voice thick. “And now… I love seeing you eat and actually enjoy your food.”
Eli reached across the table, taking my hand. “We’ll be okay,” he said softly. “Somehow.”
And I believed him.