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I looked down at my son, asleep on my chest. I texted back, \u201cI\u2019ll see what I can do.\u201d Then I sat with the sour taste of it. This was familiar\u2014every ask framed as urgent. I\u2019d paid before: her rent, my mom\u2019s dental bill, a new phone for my stepdad after a fishing trip, help refinancing a car. No one ever asked how I was covering any of it while pregnant and working full-time. That morning something clicked off. I replied, \u201cI can\u2019t help right now. Maybe in a week or two. Things are tight.\u201d It wasn\u2019t true; I had the money. But I had given too much, and they had taken too much.<\/p>\n
From the kitchen, Brandon washed bottles. \u201cThey want five grand,\u201d I said. He didn\u2019t look surprised. \u201cOf course they do.\u201d He hadn\u2019t left since the hospital. No speeches. He just stayed\u2014groceries, laundry, pacing the hallway when the baby wouldn\u2019t settle. We didn\u2019t define us. Maybe we were still broken, but he was present.<\/p>\n