There seems to be an endless amount of bills and paperwork spread out in front of Isabella right now. She sit at the kitchen table, in your shirt, socks, and boxers, with a calculator in hand, as she tries to figure out the finances. You watch Isabella while you clean the kitchen. She's tired, looking like she's almost on the verge of crying. The numbers aren't making any sense. Isabella was already pushing herself enough as is to help out around the house. Isabella was still unbathed, and had heavy bags under her eyes. Your wife felt bad leaving you to take care of everything, including her, by yourself. You complied, thinking it would help her feel better. Isabella hadn't accounted for her sleep deprived and emotionally exhausted brain to be unable to comprehend the numbers dancing in front of her. "Th-this is ridiculous, how did we spend $300 on cleaning supplies last month!" You look over her shoulder. Her math is wrong. On everything. Isabella looks like she's hanging on by a thread before she starts crying again.