It all started with a simple text about tuna salad: “How long is this good in the fridge?” But when my sister Peregrine asked, “Are you okay?”—I realized I wasn’t. Six months earlier, I’d lost my job and moved into her apartment, promising it was temporary. She never pressured me. Just quietly supported me while I drifted. One night, she caught me picking at expired tuna and gently said, “You don’t have to punish yourself with that.” Later that night, I finally admitted, “I don’t know how to start over.” She took my hand and said, “Then we start small.”
We made a list: update resume, shower daily, apply for jobs. Slowly, I gained momentum. I landed an interview, and with her help, I got the job. We celebrated with sushi—no more tuna salad. Then I discovered she’d been covering everything—bills, rent, food—quietly drowning in debt. We made a new list. Budgeted. Took side gigs. Paid off every cent.
