Peace at a Price
The egg cartons multiplied faster than Calvin’s patience. They were everywhere now—stacked carefully against the kitchen wall, arranged in neat towers near the balcony door, even lining the hallway like fragile barricades. At first, Calvin had spoken about the business with enthusiasm, explaining margins, suppliers, and distribution plans. But as the weeks passed, the excitement drained from his voice. He stopped explaining anything at all. Maya could tell he was losing money. She saw it in the way he recalculated numbers late into the night. In the tension in his jaw. In how he snapped at small things. Yet he never discussed the losses with her. Not once. Her monthly allowance was still being transferred into his account. Her own account remained locked because she had not physically
- Writer
