We were broke—living on rice, beans, and the flicker of solar lights. Eli was unraveling under the weight
of anxiety and dead-end days, while I scrambled to hold us together through rejection emails and unpaid bills. He clung to hope by fixing
broken laptops, but one day, a repair went wrong. I snapped—not at him, but at everything we couldn’t control.
Then Eli collapsed—his body simply gave out. In that terrifying moment, I realized we were both breaking. We cried, talked,
and reminded ourselves that we were a team. Not long after, I landed a remote admin job. That first paycheck meant fresh food and fresh hope.
It wasn’t perfect—but it was a start. And for the first time in months, we were dreaming again. Together.
