“Basement,” Frank said.
“My car,” I said.
“Write it,” he said.
So I did.
Car payment.
Insurance.
Gas.
Groceries.
Phone.
Health insurance.
Then the things that weren’t “real” expenses but somehow always happened.
Coffee.
Lunch out.
Streaming.
Random “just this once.”
Impulse buys.
Fees.
Tips.
Convenience.
When I finished, the page looked like a crime scene.
Frank leaned over my shoulder.
He didn’t comment on the big things.
He pointed at the little ones.
“There,” he said.
He tapped the page lightly.
“There’s the leak.”
I felt defensive again, heat rising.
“But those are the only things that make life feel okay,” I said.
Frank straightened slowly.
Then he surprised me.
He nodded.
“I know,” he said.
That was it.
Two words.
No lecture.
No judgment.
Just… recognition.
He looked at me, and his voice softened in a way I’d never heard from him.
“You think I never wanted a treat?” he asked.
I didn’t know what to say.
Frank’s eyes went distant for a moment.
“I wanted things,” he said quietly. “I wanted a new truck. I wanted to take your grandma to dinner. I wanted to buy her a dress that didn’t come from the discount rack.”
He swallowed.