He leaned heavily on the kitchen counter and rubbed his eyes until the skin went raw.

“We’re sitting on more than five thousand dollars of unpaid medical debt from your emergency delivery, Claire, and your unpaid leave got stretched by two whole months because of your surgical complications,” he said in a low, desperate voice.

“I know perfectly well our bank account is hurting, Peter, but that’s a grown-up problem to fix,” I shot back, refusing to give an inch.

“You know it’s tight on paper, but you have no idea how scary the mail has gotten, because I’ve been hiding the collection notices from you,” he confessed, staring at the floor.