The Red Numbers

Dear Delyara, I keep a spreadsheet on my computer hidden in a folder labeled "Old Taxes." If anyone opened it, they would see the blueprint of my failure. It’s a grid of red numbers that grows every single month, despite how many double shifts I pull. I’m a man who wears a clean shirt and a smile to work, but my stomach is constantly in knots. I’ve started skipping lunch, telling my colleagues I’m "trying a new fast," but the truth is I have exactly £4.20 in my account until Friday. I feel like I’m drowning in a very shallow pool, and the shame of not being able to provide is worse than the bills themselves. I’m terrified that if my wife finds out, the person she sees when she looks at me will disappear forever.