Not rich, but I owe no one — and that's enough to sleep well

At the market, she picks up a bunch of greens and pauses: the old price tag is crossed out, a new number written over it. Not much, just a few thousand more. But every month she already counts it down to the last line.

That night she opens her spending notebook. Her pay just covers living, not much left over. She crosses out the weekend milk tea, then the shirt she meant to buy. One line she leaves alone: the money she sends her mom. She closes the notebook lighter than she expected. This month still works.

At a street-side drink stall, a friend asks: "Don't you feel the pressure? No house, no car?" She thinks for a moment. Of course she worries. But she owes no one, she can afford a doctor when she's sick, and her mom gets money every month. No house isn't the same as nothing. This time she answers plainly, without flinching.

Last week she had a fever for three days. She sat alone in the clinic waiting room holding a queue number, then paid at the counter herself. No calls, no borrowing a single dong from anyone. That night she took her medicine, turned off the light — and for the first time in a while, slept straight through.

Not rich, but I owe no one. That's enough to sleep well.

What does "enough" look like for you?