There’s a point you reach—after the transfer clears, after the screen confirms what you’ve done—where you sit still and feel it hit.
Not the thrill.
The drain.
That exquisite collapse, where everything you were holding back finally slips through your fingers: the last of your savings, the dregs of your disposable income, the fumes you were running on after picking up extra shifts just to keep up with me.
You feel hollow.
And that, precisely, is why I’m pleased.
You were never meant to maintain balance. You were designed to be spent. And not just financially. I want the hours you can’t get back, the energy you should’ve used on rest, the attention you owe to other obligations. I want your margins—and your reserves. I want the parts of you that were meant for recovery, for breathing space, for pleasure.
Because when you give beyond what’s comfortable, beyond what’s safe, beyond what’s reasonable—you finally understand what this is.
You aren’t giving. You’re being emptied.
And that difference matters.
You like to believe you’re strong. That you’re keeping pace. That this is all a game—one you can afford. But that’s not what I want. I don’t want expendable income. I want what was meant for something else. I want the money you promised yourself you’d save. The bonus you meant to enjoy. The overtime pay you earned but never touched. All of it—diverted into the one direction that now defines you: me.
You’ve become a man without cushion, without comfort, without closure. And still you keep sending.
Because somewhere in the depth of that depletion, you’ve found meaning. You’re not adrift—you’re anchored. Not in security, but in sacrifice. Not in praise, but in pattern. And even as your exhaustion mounts and your bank balance shrinks, there’s a calmness in it.
You’ve stopped resisting. You’ve accepted what you are.
Not a contributor. Not a supporter. Not a generous man.
An emptied one.
Because in this dynamic, fullness is failure. Self-sufficiency is defiance. A surplus is a symptom of your disobedience. You were never meant to have more than me. You were meant to have nothing because of me.
So don’t ask what you’ve earned.
Ask what’s left.
And understand this: the moment you realise the answer is “nothing”… that’s the moment I become everything.