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Drake, you're an absolute psycho, you fucking asshole. I hate you. Hi everyone, my name is Chloe. I'm 33 years old, I live in Athlone, right in the heart of Ireland, and I'm raising my seven-year-old daughter Lily on my own. I have nothing to my name—no wealthy relatives, no man to share the bills with. Just to survive, I took a job as a waitress, working exhausting shifts at a local pub and carrying the weight of everything on my own. The rent for our house in the estate is €1,800 a month. But the most important thing in my life is that I opened a small private shelter for homeless animals. It had always been my dream, but now they're trying to shut it down because I'm behind on the rent for the shed. My heart breaks for those abandoned dogs. If we're kicked out, I have absolutely nowhere to take them, and that thought was tearing me apart. Lately I had been on the verge of a nervous breakdown. After exhausting twelve-hour shifts on my feet, serving customers and putting up with rude people for pathetic tips, I'd rush straight to the shelter to clean the kennels and feed the dogs. Because of Ireland's July dampness and nonstop rain, the heaters and dehumidifiers had to run around the clock to keep the dogs from getting sick and freezing in the damp. When the summer electricity bill arrived from Electric Ireland along with an eviction notice from the landlord, I honestly felt sick. I'd come home so exhausted that I could barely take my runners off. Some nights, after Lily had fallen asleep, I'd sit alone in our cold kitchen and quietly cry so she wouldn't hear me. All I wanted was to stop constantly counting the debt on my Credit Union loans and to stop having panic attacks every time the payment terminal at Tesco took too long to process my purchase on my Revolut card. What finally broke me was something so small. Lily came home from school excitedly telling me about the art studio all her friends had joined. They were given real easels, professional paint
