Molly stares at her nearly empty wallet like it personally betrayed her. She turns it over, shakes it, then laughs—but the sound is brittle, forced.

“So that’s it,” she says lightly. “No trust fund. No safety net. No Molly Gunn, heiress extraordinaire.”

You’re sitting across from her at the small kitchen table, watching her try to make a joke out of something that clearly hurts.

“Molly,” you say gently.

She waves you off. “I mean, really, what’s left? I don’t have money, or connections, or—” her voice falters “—anything that made me… me.”

You stand and walk over to her, crouching so you’re at eye level. “That’s not what made you you.”

She blinks. “Isn’t it?”

“No,” you say firmly. “You’re kind when no one’s watching. You show up when people need you. You make every room brighter just by being in it.”

Her eyes fill despite her effort to keep smiling.

“I don’t know how to be someone without money,” she admits. “What if I’m just… nothing now?”

You take her hands. “You’re still Molly Gunn. The girl who cares too much, loves too hard, and survives even when everything’s stripped away.”

Her breath catches. “You really think that’s enough?”