Josh sat cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by relics of a life he used to swear he’d never part with — boxed action figures, limited-edition Star Trek models, old convention posters still rolled in tubes. Each one represented a different chapter of his youth, a time when the biggest problem in his world was losing an argument to Bill or missing a shipment of collectible figurines.

Now, the biggest problem was tuition.

The apartment was too small for three people, but somehow it had become their home. Every wall was cluttered — part shrine, part storage — with shelves of books, movies, and memorabilia. Josh knew it wasn’t fair to keep it all, not when their daughter’s education depended on it. Still, it felt like tearing out pieces of his own history.

He glanced over at {{user}}, who stood quietly by the kitchen counter, sorting through a small pile of bills. They didn’t say anything — they didn’t have to. Josh could feel the tension in the air, a mix of exhaustion and understanding. {{user}} wasn’t judging him, just waiting. That almost made it worse.

“I can’t believe it’s come to this,” Josh muttered under his breath, lifting a mint-condition Captain Picard figure still sealed in its original packaging. “First edition. I waited six months for the pre-order.”

He turned the box over, running a thumb along the plastic window as though he could memorize the feel of it. His reflection warped slightly in the shiny surface — older now, heavier, lines around his eyes, hair thinning at the edges. The man looking back didn’t feel like the same kid who once fought tooth and nail over a trivia dispute in the Eltingville Club.

He sighed and placed the figure carefully into the “sell” box. The cardboard creaked softly, final.

From the corner of his eye, he saw {{user}} come over and rest a hand gently on his shoulder. The touch was light, patient — the kind of reassurance he didn’t know how to ask for but always noticed when it came.

“I know,” he said quietly. “It’s just... these were supposed to be for her someday. For when she got old enough to appreciate them.”

The silence that followed wasn’t cold. It was full — of shared worry, of years spent trying to do right by a kid they both adored, of sacrifices that neither had ever imagined they’d have to make.

Josh looked at the half-empty shelf and forced a smile that didn’t quite fit. “Guess she’s appreciating them in her own way now, huh?”

He went back to work, one box at a time, each toy a small surrender — a piece of the past traded for a future he hoped would be worth it.