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My name is Alex Turner, and I’m 33 years old. I grew up in a small town called Hartland in New Brunswick, but for the past seven years, my wife and I have been living in Preston, in the northwest of England. It’s not the life I imagined for myself, but there’s steady work here, and right now, that’s what matters most. My wife, Emily, and I bought a small house about six years ago. We have two children — Mathieu, who is six, and Clara, who is three and a half. I work night shifts at the McCain Foods factory near Preston. Twelve-hour shifts that feel endless. I spend my nights lifting heavy sacks of frozen potatoes, standing beside conveyor belts so hot the temperature reaches forty degrees, surrounded by noise so intense my ears still ring long after work is over. By the end of every shift, my hands ache, my back feels ruined, and my legs swell so badly that walking to my car becomes painful. I get home while most people are still asleep and try to be present for my family, but more often than not, exhaustion wins, and I collapse into bed. Things started going downhill when Emily became pregnant with our second child. She went on maternity leave, and suddenly our household income dropped dramatically. We told ourselves it would only be difficult for a short time. But after Clara arrived, reality hit harder. She was tiny and needed constant care, so Emily couldn’t return to work. We had no choice but to rely solely on my wages. Then Clara became ill. She had a terrible cough, high fevers, and barely slept through the night. She cried constantly, and every doctor’s visit meant more medicine, syrups, breathing treatments, and more expenses we weren’t prepared for. Emily stayed home to look after her, and money became tighter than ever. At first, I relied on credit cards to pay for food and medication. Later, I used them to cover mortgage payments we couldn’t keep up with. Eventually, I had to borrow even more money just to stay afloat as interest piled up. I kept c
