It started with a simple question: “How long is tuna salad good in the fridge?” I texted my sister, Peregrine. Her reply: “Technically 3–5 days, but trust your nose.” Then she asked, “Are you okay?” I wasn’t. I’d lost my job six months ago and had been living with her since. She never pushed, never judged, even as I drifted through each day, unsure how to begin again. That night, I poked at the tuna salad—day four. It felt familiar: a little spoiled, still hanging on. Peregrine walked in, took one look, and gently dumped it.

“You don’t have to punish yourself with expired tuna,” she said. At 3 a.m., I admitted, “I don’t know how to get started again.” She took my hand. “Then we start small.” We made a list: Shower. Apply for jobs. Eat fresh food. Breathe.

It wasn’t easy, but I kept going. Then came a job interview—and a job offer. We celebrated with sushi. But soon, I saw the toll on her. She’d been covering my expenses and was drowning in debt. She never said a word. Together, we built a new list: budget, pay off debt, side gigs. Slowly, we dug out. One night, a neighbor showed up in crisis. Peregrine welcomed him without hesitation. That’s who she is—always giving, even when empty. Later, when she lost her own job, I echoed her words: “Let’s start small.” We built her list. She struggled, but kept going. She landed a better job. We danced in the kitchen again. Now, the apartment feels like a home.

One day, I saw her making tuna salad. “Didn’t we learn our lesson?” I joked. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll finish it before day three.” This all began with a question about leftovers. But what really mattered wasn’t the food—it was the quiet check-in that saved us both. Tuna salad lasts 3–5 days.
But don’t wait that long to check in—on someone you love, or on yourself.