For most of the last three years, my paycheck had been the stable one. Jason’s commission checks came in bursts—fat deposits after good months, thin stretches after slow ones, always explained with phrases like pipeline timing, territory transition, client delays, market softness. During the good months, Jason spent freely because he had “earned it.” During the slow months, the house did not stop needing money.
The mortgage came out whether Jason had closed a deal or not.
So did the power bill.
The water bill.
The internet.
The phones.
The insurance.
Ellie’s daycare.
Groceries.
Prescriptions.
School fees.
Car insurance.
Dental copays.
Birthday parties.
Laundry detergent.
Gas.
Dog food.
The invisible machinery of a family kept running because I kept feeding it.
Jason called that “help.”
I called it carrying.