Before school ever called her name, Tiana learned responsibility in quieter ways.
Her days were spent helping at a small shop near the barracks, a cramped space filled with folded clothes and the scent of fabric that had passed through many hands. She arranged dresses by color, smiled at customers, and called out prices with a softness that made people linger. The money was small, inconsistent, but it was something she earned with her own hands.
And Joshua knew.
He knew that whenever he called, Tiana would listen. Whenever he sighed on the phone and said he was stranded, her heart would race. Whenever he spoke of needing money—for food, books, transport, or "urgent things" in school—she would not ask questions.
She sent it.
Every time.
In her mind, school was sacred. Education was the ladder Joshua was climbing, and she believed love meant holding the ladder steady no matter how tired her arms became. She wasn't in school yet, so she convinced herself that her sacrifice was necessary, even noble.
"I don't want you to fail," she would say softly.
Sometimes the shop money helped. Sometimes it didn't.
When it wasn't enough, Tiana borrowed. When borrowing failed, desperation whispered dangerous ideas. She took small amounts from her mother's purse, then larger ones. Sometimes from her father's pockets, her hands trembling as guilt tightened her chest.
She hated herself for it.
But she loved him more.
Joshua never asked where the money came from. He never questioned her struggle or thanked her deeply. He only accepted it, like something that was owed. Slowly, without words, he learned the truth: Tiana would give him everything if he asked.
And sometimes—even when he didn't—he asked anyway.
Not every request was honest. Sometimes he lied. Sometimes there was no emergency, no pressing need. Just desire. Just entitlement. Just the quiet certainty that she would send the money regardless.
And she did.
Love blinded her to the imbalance forming between them. She ignored the growing ache in her chest, the quiet voice asking why love felt like loss. She told herself relationships were hard, that sacrifice proved devotion.
She didn't see that devotion should not demand self-destruction.
By the time the year deepened, Tiana had given more than money. She had given peace, trust, and parts of herself she did not yet know how to reclaim.
And still, she believed.