He slammed his resumé onto his boss’s desk and came home grinning. “Two grand is plenty for us,” he said. “No more Starbucks. No more nail salons.” I swallowed my panic—until Sunday. My mother-in-law marched in with her daughter and three kids. “Family-free lunch!” she chirped, heading straight for my kitchen. Then she yanked open my fridge, froze, and whispered, “What is this?” My stomach dropped… because it wasn’t food she’d found.
When Ryan quit his job, he acted like he’d just won a war. He strutted into our apartment, dropped his keys in the bowl, and kissed my forehead like everything was suddenly lighter. “Two grand is plenty for us,” he said, flashing that reckless grin. “We cut out the extras. No more Starbucks. No more…