About two months into the marriage, Desmond came home one evening quieter than usual. After a long pause at the table, he admitted that money was very short. He was sorry. He did not know when things would improve.
Grace looked at him steadily.
“Is there food for tomorrow?” she asked.
“Not much,” he admitted.
She reached into the lining of her bag and quietly placed a small envelope of coins, money she had been saving from her hospital wages, on the table between them.
Desmond stared at it.
“Grace, that is your money.”
“It is our money now,” she said simply. “We need tomorrow. That is what matters.”
He looked at her for a long time, speechless.
The following week, he came home pale and moving slowly, one hand pressed against his side. By morning, he was worse. Grace placed a hand on his forehead. He was burning with fever.
After her hospital shift, she went to the pharmacy and asked for the medicine he needed. The price made her stomach drop. It was more than she had.
She went straight to her supervisor.
“I need a second shift.”
“That is a very long day, Grace.”
“I know. I can do it.”
She worked double shifts for four straight days. Her feet ached, her back burned, and she barely ate because every coin went toward the medicine. On the third night, sitting alone on the bus home in the dark, she leaned her head against the window and let herself cry quietly for a few minutes where no one could see.
Then she wiped her face, straightened her back, and got off at her stop.
