Elena's car cut through the darkness. Dashboard lights green on her face. She pressed call. "You up?" "Always." Ethan's voice steady. He'd been awake since four thirty. Baby first, then screens. Markets that never sleep. "How's my niece?" "Sleeping. Sarah too." Coffee pouring. "Coffee's on." "Our coffee." Sunday mornings. Dad's table. Cheap brew too strong. Mom complaining, drinking it anyway. Five years without Mom. Two without Dad. Just them now. Elena filled the silence. "Had this patient tonight who looked exactly like Grandma. Same eyes. Same way of complaining about everything while somehow being sweet about it. You remember how she'd—" She shifted. "The vending machine ate ten dollars. For chips. Chips, Ethan. And we got this new attending, fresh out of fellowship, thinks he knows everything. Tried to tell me how to place a line. I've been doing this fifteen years. Fifteen years and this kid who probably can't even—" "Mm-hmm." "There's this podcast about biohacking I started. They say if you optimize your sleep schedule and eat within an eight-hour window you can basically rewire your entire system. Sounds crazy but the science is actually pretty solid. They had this researcher from Stanford who—" "You sleeping okay?" "Fine. I mean, nights, so sleep is always weird. But fine." She wasn't sleeping. He could hear it. "I need to get back to the gym. Keep saying that. Keep meaning to. There's just no time, you know? By the time I get home I'm exhausted and then errands and somehow the whole day disappears and I haven't done anything I planned. Not one thing. Isn't that crazy? A whole day and nothing to show for it." Highway stretched empty. Exit signs passing. "Found these shoes online at three AM. On my break. Sixty percent off. Can't beat that, right? I mean, when you see a deal like that you have to jump on it because if you wait even five minutes they're gone. That's how it works now. Everything moves so fast. Blink and you miss it." "Right." "I'm about twenty minutes out." Voice tightened. "You ever hear of ShopIt? It's this app. You scroll through deals, products. Really targeted. Knows what you want before you do. It's like therapy, honestly." Hollow laugh. "Cheaper than therapy anyway. Well. Actually not cheaper. Nothing's cheaper anymore. Have you noticed that? How everything just costs more now but nobody really talks about it. They use these words like 'moderating' and 'transitory' but my grocery bill doesn't feel very transitory. It feels pretty permanent. Pretty consistently awful." She caught herself. "Never mind. I'm complaining again." "You can complain." "No, I can't. I have a doctorate. I have a job. Dad would've told me to deal with it." "Yeah. He would've." Pause. "Yeah. He would've." She pivoted. "So there's this nurse on my floor, Jessica, and she's got this whole side business selling essential oils. Claims she makes more from that than nursing. Which is insane, right? That someone can make more selling oils on the internet than working in a hospital saving actual lives? But she's always talking about passive income and building her brand and I just—when did work stop being enough? When did having a career stop being the thing that was supposed to make your life work?" Sky lightening. Dawn coming. "I'm pulling in." Elena turned into the driveway. Porch light steady. She parked but didn't kill the engine. "I'm here." "I know. Come in when you're ready." "In a minute." Silence settled. "Ethan, I—" She broke. "I can't do this anymore." "Okay." Quiet. Steady. "Everything costs so much and I'm drowning. How is that possible? I work overnight shifts saving lives and I can't afford my own life." Crying now. Baby monitor crackled. "I bought the house seven years ago. Remember? You helped me move in. I thought that's what you did. Build equity. It was supposed to be the smart thing." Shaky breath. "It's worth less now. Or the same. Nobody's buying. Everyone moved their money somewhere else. Into things I don't understand." Sun broke the horizon. "And I pulled the equity out. All of it. Hundred thousand dollars. For what? Trying to feel like I had something. Like I wasn't just working to pay interest on a life I can't afford." Voice raw. "My student loans. The house. The equity line. My car. Insurance. Everything doubled and everyone keeps saying the economy is fine. That things are moderating." Bitter laugh. "I did everything right. Everything they said to do. And I'm still drowning." Silence. "I miss him. Miss Dad so much and I'm so angry at him. He would've told me to deal with it. To figure it out. Like you do." Whisper now. "How do you do that, Ethan? How do you just keep going?" Long moment. "One thing at a time. That's all Dad ever did. Not because he had it figured out. Because that's all there is." "That's it?" "Yeah." Elena killed the engine. Gathered herself. Walked to the porch. Ethan held the door open. Solid. Present. Kitchen smelled like cheap coffee. He poured without asking. She sat. Stared at the cup. "I keep thinking if I just work harder. Another shift. Better budget. Stop buying things." She shook her head. "But I bought those shoes because it made me feel like I had control. And I felt guilty for a week." Ethan sat across from her. Silent. "And Chase. A year ago and I'm still trying to fill that space. And Dad's space. Scrolling. Buying. Anything to not feel it." He nodded. "What would Dad do?" She looked up. He considered it. "Sit here. Drink his coffee. Look at what he could control. Let the rest go." "I don't know how." "Neither did he. Not at first. He'd sit at that table for hours after Mom died. Just sit there." Even voice. Factual. "Then he'd get up. Do the next thing. Not because he wanted to. Because it was there to be done." Quiet. "The house was supposed to be the thing. The smart thing." "Yeah." "And it's just another weight now. Everyone else figured out where the money was going and I was still thinking houses were how you built wealth." "Dad bought his for thirty thousand. Paid it off in fifteen years." "Houses don't work that way anymore." "No." She wrapped her hands around the cup. "You're more like him than I am." "Maybe. Or maybe I just had more chances to practice." Failed business. Near bankruptcy. Years learning markets the hard way. He'd been there. Just carried it differently. "I don't know what to do." "You don't have to. Not yet. You're here. You're drinking coffee. That's the thing you're doing right now." Silence. "I think I just needed someone to know. Not to fix it. Just to sit with it." "I'm sitting." "Is that enough?" "For now. One thing at a time." She drank. Lukewarm. Motor oil. "Mom would've hated that we still make it like this." "Dad wouldn't have cared. It was coffee. Did the job." Baby cried through the monitor. Ethan stood. "Want to meet her? Properly?" First real light in her eyes. "Yeah. I'd like that." They walked toward the nursery. She paused at the door. "Thank you. For not telling me what to do. For just sitting." He looked at her. "It might not be okay. But you'll deal with it. One thing at a time. That's all any of us do." Not comforting. But true. "I think I need help. Real help." "Then that's the next thing." "Same time next week?" "Same time next week." Baby cried louder. Ethan moved toward her. Elena followed. Sun fully up. Problems still there. House underwater. Equity line crushing. Loans like stones. Silent crisis denied by everyone with reason to deny it. But she was here. Sitting with it. One thing at a time. Watching her brother lift his daughter with steady hands that had rebuilt businesses and weathered losses and made terrible coffee, she understood. Not how to win. Not how to fix everything. Just how to endure. How to be present. How to do the next thing. It wasn't much. But maybe it was all there was. Light through the window. Baby quiet in Ethan's arms. Elena watching. No answers. No solutions. No promises. Just this. Just now. Just the next thing.