We lived modestly, but we laughed often.
There were birthday cakes made from boxed mix, summer trips to inexpensive lakeside cabins, secondhand bicycles, Sunday pancakes, school concerts, awkward first dates, college graduations, and thousands of small moments that eventually became the real story of our familyThen, when June was twenty-five, a complicated immune-related condition began affecting her health.
At first, we assumed it would be manageable with medication and rest, but the following two years brought specialists, procedures, extended treatment plans, time away from work, and medical expenses that seemed to reproduce faster than either of us could pay them.
June had insurance, but insurance did not cover everything.
I used my savings first.
Then I refinanced my little townhouse.
Then I accepted additional evening work reviewing claims for a private contractor.
I never told June how worried I had become because she was already carrying enough.
By the fall of 2026, her treatment was finally helping, yet the financial strain remained, and one rainy Tuesday morning I found myself sitting at my desk before anyone else arrived, staring at three envelopes containing overdue notices and feeling, for the first time in many years, exactly like the seventeen-year-old girl who used to count quarters on her kitchen table.
