Chapter 3: Loss and Fallout

The day after I got home, Grandma passed away.

While I was grieving, I was grateful I made it back in time to see her one last time. The hospital room was all antiseptic and blue blankets, but she squeezed my hand and smiled through the pain, and that memory will never leave me. Her fingers were cold, but her grip was strong. She whispered, “Don’t let them walk all over you, Caleb.”

After the funeral, my dad told me that the day I came home, Ms. Benson had called him.

“Now that things at home are settled, hurry back to school, don’t delay your studies.”

“Dad, our counselor…”

Anyone could guess she didn’t have anything nice to say to my dad.

He patted my shoulder. “I know, you did nothing wrong. Don’t worry, no matter what, Dad’s got your back.”

I nodded.

On the way back to school, I sent Ms. Benson a message: I said things at home were settled and I’d be back at school that evening.

She never replied, even after I returned to the dorm. But I wasn’t naive enough to think she’d just let me off the hook.

I set my backpack down, and just by the silence in the hall I could tell something was up.

My roommate, Derek, saw me come back and shouted, “You’re finally back! You should’ve seen Old Benson that day—she nearly tore our dorm apart! Four guys over six feet tall, all scared half to death by her five-foot-two aura!”

I picked at my ear. “What are you afraid of? She going to punish all of us?”

The dorm leader, who’s also the Student Senate rep, looked worried: “You’d better go see Ms. Benson tomorrow and say something nice. She’s really mad this time—watch out she doesn’t give you a disciplinary mark.”

Say something nice? What a joke—it’s already polite that I didn’t curse her out.

Suddenly, the youngest shouted, “Caleb, check the big group chat—Old Benson’s speaking!”

Oh? It’s almost midnight—what’s she up to?

We all hurried to open Messenger. Sure enough, the counselor who’d ignored me all day was now publicly shaming me in the 200-person department group.

My phone buzzed so much it nearly skittered off my desk. I watched the notification count climb, heart pounding. I braced myself for the virtual firing squad, knowing how quickly college drama could go viral in the group chat.

“Caleb Morris from Electrical Engineering, left campus without approval for a week, failed to participate in school-organized activities, and skipped class without reason—this is a serious violation of school policy. According to the student handbook, the following punishment is imposed: one-week suspension from class for self-reflection; a formal warning; all awards, honors, and club leadership positions for this year are canceled; this will go on your permanent record and could affect your scholarships or grad school applications. Further violations during the punishment period will result in escalated penalties, up to expulsion.”

“@everyone Take a good look—this is what happens if you leave campus without my approval! If you think you can handle it, go ahead and try!”

Finally, she tagged me: “Write a 5,000-word reflection and hand it in by 9 a.m. tomorrow. One minute late and the punishment will be increased.”

Good grief.

I couldn’t help but blurt it out. Suspension, canceling all awards and honors, canceling club leadership, even threatening expulsion—Ms. Benson really pulled out all the stops.

The guys in the dorm didn’t even dare to breathe, just looked at me with concern. Derek stared at the screen, eyes wide as baseballs. He looked like he’d just seen the Patriots lose the Super Bowl.

Everyone knows what these punishments mean—especially if they’re recorded in my file. It could wreck my future if I want to apply for grad school or become a teacher.

The dorm leader frowned, more anxious than me: “What should we do, Caleb? Maybe call her now and see if you can get the punishment reduced?”

“How can a woman be this ruthless?”

“Are you dumb? Didn’t you know what she’s like? She’s always been like this.”

“Caleb, maybe just give in. Sure, it’s her fault for not approving your leave, but she’s the counselor—our graduation and future are in her hands.”

I didn’t say anything, just replied in the group:

“I won’t write the reflection, and I don’t accept your punishment.”

After sending the message, the other three in the dorm gasped in unison.

“Caleb, are you out of your mind?!”

For a split second, I wondered if I’d gone too far. But then I remembered my grandma’s last words—‘stand up for yourself, always.’