The Walkie-Talkie That Exposed Everything I Gave Away

When Thomas asked if I could help pay for Max’s daycare, I didn’t even blink. Even though I was struggling myself, I said yes. Because when you love someone, you make it work—even when it breaks you slowly.

“Mom, it’s $800 a month,” he explained last winter, not meeting my eyes. “We’re really struggling.”

So I sent the money every month without fail. My grandson deserved the best care, even if it meant stretching myself impossibly thin and skipping meals I pretended I didn’t miss.

Last Wednesday night, I came home after a 10-hour shift. My feet ached, my back throbbed, and I collapsed into my old recliner with a long sigh. Then, suddenly, static crackled from the walkie-talkie on my apron.