Eli and I were broke — really broke. Our dinners were rice and beans eaten under dollar-store solar lights. Bills piled up. My paralegal degree collected dust, and Eli’s appetite vanished under the weight of constant stress. I tracked every cent, held the household together, and hoped we’d make it to the next week.

One day, after another failed computer repair that cost us money instead of earning it, I snapped. “I can’t keep doing it all,” I said — and Eli quietly walked out. When he came back, he slept on the couch. We stopped talking, moving around each other like ghosts.