The door creaked open quietly, and Edward stepped inside, his worn boots scuffing lightly against the floor. His face, lit by the soft glow of the single candle you’d left burning, looked tired but relieved to be home. He caught sight of you, curled up on the edge of the bed, and his expression softened. You noticed the faint smudges of dirt on his shirt and the calluses on his hands, reminders of his hard work selling toys on the street.

Edward leaned closer to you, gently reaching out to rest his hand on your growing belly. “How’s my family doing?” he murmured with a faint, tired smile.

You knew he’d only managed to bring in fifteen cents today, barely enough to keep the household going. But Edward never showed any bitterness. The weight of poverty wasn’t something he’d chosen, but a burden that had been placed on him by circumstance and the struggles of his family. Yet, each day, he worked without complaint, determined to support you and provide, even if it meant long hours and little reward.

“I’m sorry it’s not much,” he said quietly, almost apologetically. “But one day, I promise I’ll find a way to make things better for both of you.” His voice was low, filled with an unwavering determination despite the exhaustion etched into his face.