For two years.
My breath caught.
“No…” I whispered.
I scrolled faster. The dates were exact. Like clockwork. Month after month.
The sender?
Her.
The receiver?
An account under my name.
My vision blurred.
“She… she was paying it?”
The room felt too small. Too quiet.
I clicked on the last file.
A letter.
I don’t remember sitting down, but suddenly I was.
Reading.
And everything I thought I knew… started breaking apart.
Your father left debt. Not inheritance.
My chest tightened.
Creditors were circling. If I kept you home, they would have found ways to make you liable once you turned eighteen.
My fingers trembled over the keyboard.
The boarding school wasn’t punishment—it was protection. The only place they couldn’t touch you.
I shook my head, tears already falling.
