I soaked my wrists in ice water on Sunday mornings, staring at our bank statements.

Every single paycheck went straight into the separate account.

We skipped movies, we stopped eating out, and we bought our clothes at church rummage sales.

The balance crept up slowly, dollar by aching dollar.

The physical toll was huge, but the math kept me going.

We were building our own private leverage.

By the fourth spring, the lilacs at the farm were blooming thicker than ever.

The Saturday afternoon sky stretched wide and blue over the local baseball complex.