Wealth of hearts

Chloe It’s the echo in my chest every time I open my wallet and see nothing but folded receipts and hope that refuses to die. It’s the dull ringing in my ears when the landlord knocks. It’s the quiet shame that follows me like a shadow I can’t outrun. I used to think love was enough. Love, I’ve learned, doesn’t pay school fees. I stared at my phone screen, refreshing my bank app like it might suddenly feel sorry for me and change the numbers. $14.32. That was all. Fourteen dollars and thirty two cents to my name, and my little brother needed food, transport, and school supplies by the end of the week. I exhaled slowly and pressed my forehead against the wall. “Chloe?” Daniel’s voice came from the small room behind me. My brother. My reason. My weakness. “I’m coming,” I said quickly, forcing strength into my voice. I walked in and found him sitting on the bed, his uniform folded neatly beside him even though school had ended hours ago. He always did that, prepared for tomorrow even when tomorrow scared me to death. “Did they say anything today?” he asked carefully, like he already knew the answer but didn’t want to hurt me. I shook my head. “They’ll give us time.” A lie. A gentle one. Daniel nodded anyway. He always nodded. Always understood. Too much for a sixteen year old boy who should be worrying about girls and football, not whether his sister could afford rice. “I can stop going for a while,” he said suddenly. “School, I mean.” My heart cracked. “No,” I said sharply, then softened when I saw his face fall. I sat beside him and took his hands. “You won’t stop. Not because of money. Not ever.” “But you’re tired,” he whispered. I swallowed hard. He was right. I was tired in ways sleep couldn’t fix. Tired of begging managers for shifts, tired of smiling through rejection, tired of pretending I wasn’t drowning. After our parents died, I promised him things would be okay. I promised I’d figure it out. Promises are heavy when you’re poor. That night, after Daniel fell asleep, I sat by the window and let the city lights blur through my tears. I didn’t pray for wealth. I prayed for relief. For one good thing. One hand reaching back when I felt myself slipping. It was just me. A girl with fourteen dollars and a broken plan, holding the weight of life that depended on her.