The rain in Portland didn’t fall like it did in movies. It didn’t dramatize. It didn’t announce itself with thunder and fate. It simply showed up, polite and persistent, as if the city had learned long ago that softness could still soak you through.

Devon Martinez sat across from Liam Parker at a small Italian restaurant downtown, the kind of place with amber light and basil in the air and a chalkboard menu that made even soup sound like an achievement.

It was late September, a Friday night, and this was their first in-person date after two weeks of texting that had made Devon laugh more than she’d laughed in months. Her friends had set up her dating app profile like it was an intervention.

“You’re thirty,” they’d said. “You work too much. You need to let someone into your life who isn’t a sourdough starter.”

So Devon had let them. She’d let them choose the photos and the prompts and the slightly too-optimistic description of her hobbies. She’d let herself get talked into hope the way people get talked into buying something they secretly want but don’t think they deserve.

And Liam, in the two weeks of messages, had been… surprisingly easy to talk to. Funny without being careless. Curious without being intrusive. The kind of man who asked questions and then actually waited for the answers, like the answers mattered.

Still, sitting here in this restaurant, Devon felt the old fear creep in, the one that didn’t come from dating itself but from life.

Money fear.

It lived in the back of her throat like a small animal, always ready to bite.

So she ordered the cheapest pasta on the menu and water instead of soda, and she smiled like she wasn’t silently praying the total wouldn’t push her over the thin edge of her bank account.

Liam had walked in at 7:15 exactly, wearing jeans and an ironed button-down, not fancy but deliberate, and he’d smiled at her like he was nervous too. That had made Devon relax a little.

Within ten minutes she realized he was even better in person. He didn’t check his phone once. Not once. In Portland, that was basically a vow.

They talked like the conversation was a river they’d both been waiting to step into.

Devon told him about Flower and Fire Bakery, where she’d worked the counter for five years and could decorate a cake blindfolded if you held a knife to her throat. She told him she liked the early mornings because the world was quieter before it started demanding things.

Liam told her about his startup, building educational apps for kids, and how he was basically running on coffee and stubbornness most days. He mentioned his six-year-old twin daughters, Ava and Mia, like they were the center of his universe and also the chaos engine that powered it.

“So you write code,” Devon said, smiling, “and do bedtime stories, and remember to pack lunches that aren’t just Pop-Tarts?”

Liam laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m telling you I try to do all that and I fail at least forty percent of the time. Last week I sent them to school with lunches and forgot to actually put food in the lunch boxes. Just sent them with empty containers like some kind of cruel experiment.”

Devon laughed so hard she nearly snorted water, which would have been tragic because she’d ordered water to save money and deserved to keep it.

The night felt good. The kind of good that makes you suspicious at first, like happiness might be a scam.

And then the waiter brought the check.

The total was $68.

Which meant Devon’s half was $34.

And Devon’s heart did the thing it always did when a number landed too close to survival.

Her bank account had had about ninety dollars that morning. But rent had autopaid today. And yesterday her younger brother had texted her in a panic about textbooks, and Devon had sent him forty dollars through Venmo without even checking her balance, because when family asks, you don’t pull out a calculator. You just help and deal with consequences later.

Devon tried to look casual as she slid her card into the waiter’s hand.

Her smile felt like plastic.

Two minutes later the waiter returned, leaning in slightly, voice quiet in the way people speak when they’re trying not to embarrass you and accidentally making it ten times worse.

“Ma’am,” he said gently, “your card was declined. Do you have another form of payment?”

Devon’s face went hot. Not warm. Not flushed. Hot, like her skin had been lit from the inside.

“Oh,” she said, too quickly. “Um, let me try again. Sometimes it does that.”

It never did that. Her card never randomly declined. It declined when there was nothing left to take.

She ran it again anyway, because denial is sometimes just panic wearing makeup.

The waiter’s sympathetic look deepened. The kind of sympathy that makes you want to crawl under the table and live there forever.

“Still not going through,” he said. “Do you have cash or another card?”

Devon opened her wallet.

She counted twelve dollars in crumpled bills.

All the cash she had to her name until next Friday’s paycheck.

Her throat tightened. Her eyes burned.

This was her nightmare scenario: being exposed as fragile in a public place, on a first date, with someone she actually liked.

Liam was watching. Devon couldn’t look at him. She leaned across the table and whispered as quietly as she could.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, voice shaking. “I can’t afford this date. My card got declined and I only have twelve dollars cash. I thought I had enough, but my rent went through today and I didn’t check. I’m so embarrassed. I could die right here.”

And then the tears came, unstoppable, humiliating, hot streaks down her cheeks in the middle of this warm little restaurant.

Devon braced herself for the moment Liam would do what so many people did when they saw mess.

Back away.

Make an excuse.

Disappear.

Liam didn’t speak for a second, and Devon’s brain spun, convinced this was where the story turned into a cautionary tale.

Then Liam reached across the table and put his hand over hers.

“Hey,” he said, voice gentle but steady. “Look at me for a second.”

Devon looked up.

She expected pity. Or judgment. Or the subtle calculation of someone deciding if she was worth the inconvenience.

But Liam’s face was just… kind.

He squeezed her hand and said, “This happens to literally everyone. It’s not a big deal. Let me get this one, okay?”

Before Devon could protest, Liam pulled out his own card and handed it to the waiter.

“Liam, no,” Devon whispered, panicked. “We were supposed to split it. This is so humiliating.”

Liam shook his head. “You want to hear something that’ll make you feel better?”

Devon blinked through tears.

“Last month,” Liam said, “my startup’s payroll system glitched and everyone’s checks bounced. Including mine. I had to call my mom and borrow three hundred dollars so I could buy groceries for my kids. I’m thirty-six years old and I had to ask my mother for grocery money.”

Devon stared at him, stunned.

Liam shrugged slightly, a self-deprecating tilt. “So trust me. I understand how this feels.”

The waiter took the card and walked away. Devon sat there, trembling, trying to wipe her face without making it worse.

When they left the restaurant, Devon expected Liam to politely end the night, because most people didn’t know what to do with a crying woman and a declined card.

Instead, Liam gestured toward the bench outside under a streetlight.

“Do you want to sit for a minute?” he asked.

Devon blinked. “You’re… not going to run away?”

Liam’s smile was small. “Not unless you tell me to.”

So they sat on the bench, the same kind of bench people used to eat takeout and break up and call their moms and make up, all under the same streetlight that had seen everything.

Devon took a breath, staring at her hands.

“I need you to know,” she said, voice raw, “I’m not usually this much of a mess. I work full-time and I budget and I try really hard. But my little brother’s in college and my parents can’t help him, so I do. And sometimes the math doesn’t work. Sometimes it just doesn’t.”

Liam turned to face her fully. “Devon,” he said, “I’m going to be really honest with you, because we just went through something really vulnerable in there, and I think we’re past the point of pretending we have our lives figured out.”

Devon’s stomach tightened, bracing for the confession that he didn’t want to see her again.

Liam exhaled. “My startup is barely profitable. I’m still paying off medical bills from when my wife, Rachel, was sick before she passed two years ago. I drive a car that’s held together with duct tape and prayer. And last week I had to choose between fixing my laptop or buying the twins new shoes.”

He swallowed. “I chose the laptop because I need it for work, and I felt like garbage about it.”

Devon stared at him, shocked not by his struggle but by her own assumptions.

She had assumed “startup owner” meant stable. That it meant savings and fancy coffee and calm. She’d built a story around him based on his job title.

And here he was, sitting on a bench under a streetlight, admitting he was treading water too.

“So,” Devon whispered, half-laughing through tears, “you’re not secretly judging me for being broke?”

Liam laughed, and it was warm. “I’m secretly relieved you’re broke too.”

Devon’s eyebrows shot up.

He held up a hand quickly. “Not because I want you to struggle. But because it means you get it. You understand what it’s like to work your butt off and still come up short sometimes. And honestly… that’s more attractive to me than any perfectly curated profile.”

They talked for another hour.

Not about the kind of stuff people talk about on first dates to impress each other, but the stuff people talk about when they’re tired of pretending.

Student loans. Credit card debt. Child care costs. The weird humiliation of being an adult and still having to do math before you can buy shampoo.

And somewhere in that conversation, Devon realized she’d never felt more seen by another person in her entire life.

Around 9:30, Liam rubbed his hands together like he was bracing for something.

“Can we do this again?” he asked. “But next time, let’s do something free. Like a picnic at Laurelhurst Park. I’ll bring sandwiches. Nothing fancy. Just… peanut butter and jelly, probably.”

Devon smiled, for the first time since the card declined. “I can bring bakery leftovers. We get to take home whatever doesn’t sell.”

Liam’s whole face lit up. “That sounds perfect. Way better than spending money we don’t have trying to impress each other.”

Then he leaned in and kissed her.

Soft. Sweet. Under the streetlight.

Devon kissed him back, thinking: I just had the most embarrassing moment of my dating life, and somehow it turned into the most honest conversation I’ve ever had.

Maybe that was worth more than being able to afford an expensive dinner.

As they walked to their cars, Liam called after her, “Next Friday, noon, Laurelhurst Park. Bring whatever cookies didn’t sell.”

Devon laughed. “I’ll bring the dessert. You bring your mediocre sandwiches.”

“It’s a date,” Liam said.

Devon drove home to her tiny studio apartment that cost too much and smelled weird in a way she couldn’t identify. She sat in her car for a few minutes before going inside, breathing, letting the night settle in her body.

She had spent two weeks terrified of this date. It had gone sideways in the worst possible way.

And somehow she felt more hopeful than she had in years.

Because Liam Parker had seen her at her lowest and instead of running, he’d pulled up a bench and stayed.

The next six weeks became the best dating experience Devon had ever had.

And it didn’t cost them more than about twenty bucks total. That included the time Liam bought ice cream cones from a food truck and insisted on paying the whole four dollars like he was some kind of high roller.

Their second date was that picnic at Laurelhurst Park. Devon brought a box of day-old croissants and chocolate chip cookies. Liam showed up with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut into triangles like he was packing lunch for his kids.

They sat on a blanket laughing about how this might be the most budget-friendly romantic picnic in Portland history.

They did free museum days. Walked around Powell’s Books without buying anything, reading book covers out loud to each other like it was a game show.

They cooked dinner at Liam’s apartment using whatever was on sale. Devon made a list of free events in the city like it was her new hobby and also her love language.

Three weeks in, Liam asked if Devon wanted to meet his daughters.

“The twins have been asking about the lady who brings the good cookies,” he said, smiling like he was both amused and nervous.

Devon’s stomach dropped.

Meeting kids wasn’t like meeting friends. You couldn’t pretend. Children weren’t fooled by charm. They were tiny truth detectors with sticky hands.

“What if they hate me?” Devon asked.

“They won’t,” Liam said. Then softer, “But if they do, we’ll survive it.”

Devon showed up at Liam’s apartment on a Saturday morning with cookie-decorating supplies her manager had let her take home because they were going to be tossed anyway.

The moment she walked in, two identical little girls with dark curly hair and missing front teeth came barreling at her like joyful hurricanes.

“You’re Devon!” they screamed.

“Dad said you make the best cookies in the whole world!”

Ava and Mia were tornadoes of energy, talking over each other, showing Devon every toy they owned, asking approximately nine hundred questions in five minutes.

Liam stood in the kitchen doorway with a soft, apologetic smile, mouthing, I’m sorry.

Devon laughed, overwhelmed but weirdly happy.

They decorated sugar cookies. The twins got more frosting on their faces than on the cookies. Devon learned quickly that “controlled chaos” was the only possible parenting style with twins.

At one point, Mia looked at Devon very seriously and said, “Dad’s last girlfriend used to bring us presents every time she came over. Toys from the fancy store.”

Devon’s chest tightened.

She couldn’t afford fancy-store anything.

Ava elbowed her sister. “Dad said we’re not supposed to talk about Jessica.”

Liam walked over quickly, looking uncomfortable. “Girls,” he said gently, “we don’t compare people. Okay?”

But the damage had already been done.

Devon went home that afternoon with frosting under her nails and a knot in her chest.

For the next two weeks, she couldn’t shake the feeling of not being enough.

She’d see a cute toy and think of Ava and Mia, then check her bank account and feel like a failure. She started pulling back without meaning to. Taking longer to answer Liam’s texts. Making excuses about being tired when he suggested hanging out.

What Devon didn’t know was Liam was dealing with his own quiet crisis.

His startup had just lost their biggest client, the one responsible for sixty percent of his revenue. He was staring down the possibility of shutting down the business and getting a regular job with a steady paycheck.

The idea of failing at the thing he’d poured three years into felt like someone pressing a thumb into a bruise.

He didn’t tell Devon. Not because he didn’t trust her, but because he thought he was protecting her from more stress. And because some stupid part of his brain whispered that if she knew he might lose everything, she’d leave.

So he started canceling their free dates, claiming he had too much work.

Stayed up until 2:00 a.m. every night searching for new clients, rewriting pitches, refreshing his inbox like it was a slot machine.

By mid-November, they’d barely seen each other in two weeks.

One morning at breakfast, Ava asked, “Dad, how come Devon doesn’t come over anymore? Did we do something wrong?”

Liam’s heart sank.

“No, baby,” he said, forcing a calm voice. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve just been really busy with work.”

Mia squinted at him with a look that didn’t feel six years old. It felt like someone much older in a small body.

“You’re always busy with work,” she said. “But Devon used to come over anyway. Did you guys break up?”

Liam didn’t have a good answer, because he wasn’t even sure what was happening.

They hadn’t officially broken up.

But they also weren’t really together if they never saw each other.

He realized he was doing the exact thing he promised himself he’d never do again.

Hiding.

And Devon, in her tiny studio, was having her own realization as she stared at her phone. She was too tired to play games. If Liam wanted out, he could say it to her face.

So she showed up at his apartment on a Tuesday night unannounced.

When Liam opened the door, he looked exhausted and confused, hair messy, shirt wrinkled like sleep had become optional.

Devon didn’t let him say hello.

“Look,” she said, voice shaking with anger and fear, “if you’re done with me, just say it. I’m a big girl. I can handle rejection. But I can’t handle this weird slow fade where you cancel everything and barely text me back. Just be honest with me, Liam.”

Liam blinked like she’d slapped him with a truth he hadn’t been ready to hold.

“What are you talking about?” he asked. “I’m not trying to fade on you.”

Devon laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Really? Because we haven’t had an actual conversation in two weeks. You’ve canceled our last four plans. And I’m standing here feeling like I’m bothering you just by existing.”

Liam ran his hands through his hair. He looked like he might be sick.

“Dev,” he said, voice rough, “God. This is not how I wanted to tell you this.”

Devon froze.

Liam swallowed. “My startup is failing,” he said. “I lost my biggest client three weeks ago and I don’t know if I can keep the business running. I might have to shut it down and get a regular job and admit I failed at the thing I’ve been building for three years.”

Devon’s anger evaporated, replaced by something sharp and aching.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked. “Did you think I couldn’t handle knowing you were struggling?”

Liam looked down. “I thought you deserved someone who had their life together. Someone stable. Not a guy whose business is circling the drain.”

Devon stepped closer. Her voice went sharp, not cruel, but honest.

“What I deserve is someone who’s honest with me,” she said. “Someone who doesn’t make decisions about our relationship without actually talking to me.”

Then her own fear spilled out, the one she’d been hiding.

“I’ve been over here thinking you were pulling away because I’m not good enough,” she said, “because I can’t afford to buy your kids presents like your ex-girlfriend apparently could.”

Liam’s head snapped up. “Wait, what?”

Devon’s eyes filled. “Mia told me your last girlfriend brought fancy-store toys every time she came over. And I… I can’t do that, Liam. I’m broke. I work at a bakery. I live in a studio that smells weird. I help support my brother. I don’t have anything fancy to offer you or your daughters.”

They stood there in the hallway, both looking miserable in different flavors.

Finally, Liam opened the door wider. “Can you come inside,” he said quietly, “so my neighbors don’t hear us having a breakdown in the hallway?”

Devon nodded and walked in.

The twins were supposed to be asleep, but they were definitely listening from the top of the stairs, two small silhouettes peeking like curious owls.

Devon and Liam sat on his beat-up couch, the one he’d bought secondhand off Craigslist.

Liam took Devon’s hands.

“I’m sorry I shut you out,” he said. “I thought I was protecting you, but I was really just protecting my ego. I didn’t want you to see me fail.”

Devon squeezed his hands back. “Liam,” she said, voice trembling, “I watched my debit card get declined on our first date. You think I’m going to judge you for business problems?”

Liam let out a breath that sounded like relief and shame tangled together.

They talked for two hours. About everything. Liam’s client crisis. Devon’s money insecurity. The way both of them had been hiding their struggles instead of sharing them like partners.

And somewhere around midnight, they made a decision that felt both terrifying and necessary.

They were going to stop pretending they had everything figured out.

They were going to build something real.

“So what does that look like?” Devon asked, leaning her head against his shoulder.

Liam thought for a moment. “It looks like I tell you when I’m stressed about money,” he said, “and you tell me when you’re feeling insecure, and we figure out solutions together instead of separately.”

Devon exhaled. “I can do honest,” she murmured. “Honest is way easier than pretending I’m someone I’m not.”

Liam kissed the top of her head. “You said something on our first date about us both being broke,” he said. “What if we just commit to that? What if we’re broke together and we make it work?”

From the stairs, Mia’s whisper floated down.

“Does this mean Devon’s coming back over?” she asked. “Because I miss her.”

Both adults laughed, startled by the sweetness.

Liam called up, “Yes, Bug. Devon’s coming back over. Now go to sleep before I come up there.”

Devon left around 1:00 a.m.

Liam walked her to her car. Before she got in, she turned and said, “For the record, I don’t care if your startup fails or succeeds. I care about you. The person who makes terrible sandwiches and raises awesome kids and thinks cheap picnics are romantic. That’s who I’m here for.”

Something cracked open in Liam’s chest.

“And for the record,” he said, voice soft, “you being broke doesn’t make you less than anything. You’re working full-time, helping your family, and still showing up for my kids with cookies and kindness. Devon, you’re not the budget version of a girlfriend. You’re the real deal.”

Four months passed, and Devon and Liam figured out what “broke together” looked like in practice.

It looked like sharing one Netflix account. Meal-planning on Sundays. Tracking every dollar in a spreadsheet not because either of them was controlling, but because both had learned ignoring money didn’t make it disappear.

It looked like teaching Ava and Mia about saving money using mason jars they decorated with stickers, each jar labeled with a marker: “FUN,” “SAVE,” “GIVE.”

It looked like Devon waking at 5:00 a.m. for her bakery shift while Liam got the twins ready for school, and them passing each other in the kitchen like teammates handing off the baton.

It was weirdly intimate, sitting on the couch together, going through bank statements, finding five dollars here, ten dollars there. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was honest. It was two people saying: I’m not leaving when things are messy. I’m staying and learning the math with you.

Mid-March, Liam got a phone call that made him jump off the couch so fast he scared everyone.

He’d landed a new client. Not huge, but steady. A school district that wanted to use his educational app for their special needs program.

A two-year contract.

A real lifeline.

He was practically crying as he told Devon. “It’s not going to make us rich,” he said, laughing through tears. “We’re still going to budget and clip coupons and do free date nights. But I don’t have to shut down the business. I can keep doing this.”

Devon threw her arms around him in the kitchen while the twins cheered because they didn’t fully understand money, but they understood their dad’s happiness like it was music.

Two weeks later, Devon got called into her manager’s office.

She walked there convinced she was being fired.

Instead, her manager offered her a promotion to shift supervisor: three dollars more an hour, plus benefits.

Devon had to sit down.

Three dollars didn’t sound like much until you did the math. Until you realized it was the difference between barely surviving and having a small pocket of breathing room.

They celebrated both wins with a fancy dinner at home, which meant Liam cooked pasta that wasn’t instant ramen and Devon brought home a cake with a spelling mistake on it that the bakery couldn’t sell.

No one spent more than fifteen dollars.

But it felt like the most extravagant celebration either of them had ever had.

That night, after the girls went to bed, Liam pulled Devon onto the couch.

“I want to ask you something,” he said, nervous. “And I need you to be completely honest.”

Devon’s heart started racing because that sentence never led anywhere normal.

Liam smiled anyway. “I want to marry you,” he said, straight out. “But I can’t afford a ring right now. I’ve got maybe two hundred bucks saved up, and I know that’s not enough for something you’d want to wear forever.”

He looked embarrassed. “So… I guess I’m asking if you’d be okay waiting until I can actually do this right.”

Devon stared at him, then laughed and cried at the same time.

“Liam Parker,” she said, grabbing his face, “are you seriously asking my permission to propose later?”

Liam winced. “When you say it like that, it sounds stupid.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid,” Devon said firmly. “It sounds like you. And I don’t need you to wait. I don’t need expensive. I need you to ask me whenever you’re ready because the answer is going to be yes either way.”

They sat there grinning like idiots until they heard soft footsteps.

Ava appeared at the bottom of the stairs in unicorn pajamas, face solemn like a tiny lawyer.

“Dad,” she said, “can we talk to you about something important? Me and Mia have been discussing.”

Mia joined her, equally serious.

Ava continued, “We know you want to marry Devon because we heard you talking just now.”

Mia added quickly, “We weren’t spying. We just came down for water.”

Ava nodded like this was a legal defense. “And we think you should use Mom’s ring. The one in your drawer.”

Liam went still.

Devon’s breath caught.

Mia spoke softly, like she understood this was sacred. “Mom’s not here anymore. But Devon makes you smile like Mom used to. So she should have the pretty ring.”

Liam’s eyes filled. His voice shook. “You really think that’s what Mom would want?”

Ava nodded with the seriousness of someone delivering a truth. “Dad, you always say Mom said family is the most important thing. Devon’s our family now.”

Devon started crying, openly, like her heart couldn’t hold it.

The next Friday evening, Liam told Devon to meet him somewhere. He wouldn’t say where, just gave her an address.

When Devon arrived, she realized it was the Italian restaurant.

The one where her card had declined.

The place she’d thought her life was ending.

Liam stood outside near the same bench under the streetlight, holding a small box and looking nervous enough to pass out.

Devon walked over, and before she could speak, Liam started talking fast, like if he slowed down he might lose courage.

“I was going to plan something elaborate,” he said, “and then I realized that’s not us. We’re not elaborate. We’re sitting on benches outside restaurants and being honest about struggling.”

He swallowed. “So I brought you back to where it started. The place where you told me you couldn’t afford dinner. And I realized I’d just met the most real person I’d ever known.”

He got down on one knee right there on the sidewalk.

People walking by slowed, curious.

Liam opened the box.

Inside was a simple silver ring with a small diamond that caught the streetlight like a quiet star.

“This was Rachel’s ring,” Liam said, voice trembling. “And Ava and Mia asked me to give it to you. They said their mom would want you to have it.”

Devon’s hands flew to her mouth.

“I know we’re both still broke,” Liam continued, “and still figuring things out, and probably will be for a while. But I can’t afford to wait anymore to ask you this.”

His eyes shone. “Devon, will you marry me? Will you keep being broke with me and building this life with me and helping me raise these two crazy girls who already love you?”

Devon couldn’t see the ring clearly through her tears.

“Yes,” she sobbed. “Oh my God, yes. A thousand times yes. I don’t care about being broke as long as I’m broke with you.”

Liam stood up, slid the ring on her finger.

It fit perfectly.

The sidewalk erupted in claps and cheers from strangers who suddenly remembered what hope looked like.

Devon kissed him, thinking about how far they’d come from that first humiliating dinner to this moment.

They got married four months later in July at the courthouse on a Tuesday afternoon because it was cheaper than a weekend. Devon wore a white dress she found at a thrift store for thirty dollars. Liam wore the same button-down he’d worn on their first date because Devon said it was lucky.

Ava and Mia were flower girls in matching purple dresses Devon’s mom had made.

The ceremony took ten minutes.

When the judge said, “You may kiss your bride,” Liam dipped Devon like they were in an old movie. The twins screamed, “Gross!” and then immediately screamed, “Yay!”

The reception was a potluck at Laurelhurst Park, the same park as their second date. Devon’s bakery coworkers brought a three-tier cake as a wedding gift. Liam’s developer friends brought enough food to feed everyone twice. Liam’s mom cried happy tears and kept saying, “I knew you two were perfect for each other the first time Liam mentioned the girl whose card declined.”

Later, Devon and Liam stood by the cake table watching Ava and Mia run around grass-stained and glowing.

Mia ran up, sweaty and grinning, and asked out of nowhere, “Mom Devon, are we rich now that you and Dad got married? My friend says when people get married, they get rich.”

Devon knelt to her level. “No, sweetie. We’re definitely not rich. We’re still going to budget and save and be careful with money.”

Mia’s face fell a little, until Liam crouched beside them and said softly, “But we’re rich in the ways that actually matter, Bug. We’ve got each other. And that’s worth more than any amount of money in the bank.”

Ava ran over and joined the hug. “Plus,” she announced, “we have cake. And cake makes everyone rich.”

All four of them cracked up laughing.

That night, after the guests left and the park was cleaned up and the twins were finally asleep, Devon and Liam stood in the kitchen doing dishes together, still in their wedding clothes.

Devon leaned her shoulder against him.

“You know what’s funny?” she said quietly. “Less than a year ago, I thought being broke meant I had nothing to offer anyone. And now here I am, married to the guy who saw me at my lowest and stuck around anyway.”

Liam dried a plate and put it away.

“Less than a year ago,” he said, “I thought being broke meant I had nothing to offer anyone too. Turns out being broke just meant I had to offer the real stuff. The honest stuff.”

Devon smiled, eyes wet. “Best declined debit card of my life.”

Liam kissed her forehead. “Sometimes the most embarrassing moments,” he said, “are just life clearing the room so the right person can stay.”

And that was the truth of it.

Devon thought she’d ruined everything when she whispered, I can’t afford this date.

But what she’d actually done was reveal herself, unfiltered and human, and she’d found someone who didn’t mistake struggle for failure.

They were still broke by most people’s standards. Still clipping coupons. Still checking balances before purchases. Still doing free date nights and planning meals and teaching Ava and Mia that having enough was different from having everything.

But they were doing it together.

And together, they learned that wealth isn’t measured in bank accounts.

It’s measured in how you show up when someone is crying in a restaurant, how you pull up a bench instead of pulling away, how you choose honesty over pride, and how you build a life out of small, steady love even when your budget says you can’t afford big dreams.

Because the truth is, love doesn’t cost a thing.

But it’s worth absolutely everything.

THE END