As the first light of morning struggled through their curtains, Jake and Lucy’s apartment was already alive with the day’s first argument.
“Jake, how many times must we discuss this?” Lucy’s frustration was palpable. Holding her half-finished coffee, she rushed around the kitchen in yet another hurried morning. “We’re barely making ends meet, and it feels like you’re not even trying to find a solution.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Shutterstock
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Shutterstock
Jake, who was seated at their second-hand kitchen table, felt defeated. His meager factory salary made their dream of a proper home seem like a pipe dream. “I am trying, Lucy,” he responded, pulling at his hair.
His wife sat down, her anger softening to concern. “But it’s not just the money. It’s like you’re not here, even when you are. We’re drowning, and you don’t see it,” she sighed.
His eyes met hers. “I hear you, Lucy. We’ll sort this out. Together,” he affirmed, reaching for her hand.
A sudden call interrupted their moment. It was Rosa, Jake’s mother. “I’m feeling very sick… Can you take me to the hospital? I don’t think I can wait any longer,” she begged in a hoarse voice.
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