My desperate search for Leo’s education funding hit one wall after another. Every door I knocked on seemed to be preemptively closed, every application returned with a polite rejection.
My meager savings began to vanish at an alarming rate, eaten up by Leo’s specialized physical therapy sessions for his prosthetic leg. The thought of losing even that critical care terrified me.
I sat at our small kitchen table, staring at the worn linoleum. The idea, once unthinkable, started to form: moving back to my impoverished home country.
It would mean abandoning everything I had built, every sacrifice I had made for a better life here. The shame of returning, defeated, clawed at me.
Leo sat silently across from me, picking at a loose thread on his shirt. He hadn’t said anything about his dreams in days.
His quietness felt like a judgment, another burden on my already heavy heart. I felt a wave of profound failure wash over me.
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