The dim glow of gas lamps cast long, wavering shadows as Aaron Williams climbed the steps to his modest home. His shoulders sagged—not just from the weight of the worn leather satchel in his grip, but from the relentless burden of unpaid rent, mounting debts, and dwindling earnings from the newspaper that barely kept them afloat.

He hesitated at the door, drawing in a slow breath before turning the handle. The warm flicker of candlelight illuminated the small sitting room, and there she was—his wife—curled up on the settee, waiting for him. At the sound of the door, she lifted her gaze, concern etched into her delicate features.

"You're late again," she murmured, closing the book resting in her lap.

Aaron forced a tired smile as he shrugged off his overcoat. "Had to stay late for some extra work." A lie. The paper had cut back hours, and there was no such thing as overtime anymore.

She studied him in silence for a moment before shifting to make space beside her. "Aaron... is everything all right?"

His fingers tightened around the strap of his satchel. How could he tell her? That the landlord had issued a final warning? That the unpaid bills on his desk were piling higher than his manuscripts? That he had spent the last hour lingering outside, trying to figure out how they would make it through the next month?

"Yes," he said at last, forcing himself to meet her gaze. "Everything's fine."

But even as the words left his lips, he knew she didn’t believe him. And deep down, he wondered how much longer he could keep up the illusion.