Chapter 1: The Tuition Betrayal

I aced my SATs and got into one of Ohio’s top state schools.

The acceptance letter arrived in one of those thick, official white envelopes—just like in those college acceptance scenes in movies. I stood there at the mailbox, staring at my name in bold print, barely able to believe it. For a moment, I thought, maybe all those late nights and endless test prep books had finally been worth it. My mom cried happy tears when I told her, hugging me so tight I could hardly breathe. She said she was proud—really proud, the way she only does when she really means it.

A week before orientation, my mom went to transfer my tuition money, but when she logged in, her checking account was empty.

She froze, her hand still hovering over the mouse. Her face went pale, all the color draining away. Then her fists clenched, eyes wide—like she already knew deep down what had happened, something she’d always suspected but never wanted to believe. The silence that followed was long and brittle, the kind that makes the air feel thick and heavy.

She stormed out to the porch. My dad was out there, smoking by the mailbox. She grabbed him and yelled, "Rick, where’s the money from my account? Did you take my money?"

My dad’s cigarette hit the porch with a sharp snap, scattering ash across the faded wood. He wouldn’t meet her eyes—guilty as hell, like a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner. He shuffled his feet, eyes fixed on the patchy lawn.

"Well? Was it you?" My mom shook him by the collar, furious, her voice echoing down the block. For a second, I watched the neighbors’ curtains twitch—no secrets in this neighborhood.

"Yeah, it was me," he finally admitted, his voice small, like he wished he could just disappear right then and there. My heart thudded in my chest, not sure whether to feel relief or dread.

"You know that was the tuition I saved for Savannah! Where did you take it? Bring it back!" My mom was so upset she started crying, her shoulders shaking. It was the kind of cry that sounds like anger and heartbreak all tangled up together. I could feel my own eyes stinging, watching her fall apart.

My dad kept his head down, mumbling, "Maddie’s about to start school too, and she didn’t have her tuition. The other day, I saw my buddy’s wife crying alone, and when I asked, I found out Maddie’s tuition still wasn’t covered—"

"Rick!" My mom shoved him hard, her anger boiling over. "What does Maddie Jenkins’s tuition have to do with you? You’re not her father!" Her voice cracked, raw and full of disbelief.

"You can’t say that. Tom was my best friend. He’s gone now—what’s wrong with helping his daughter out?" my dad insisted, his jaw set. "Now that Tom’s gone, his wife and kid have no income. They’re struggling. Don’t be so petty." The way he said it made me want to scream.

Tom Jenkins was my dad’s friend. Their family lived just down the block, in the little blue house with the sagging porch swing. Last year, he got drunk late one night, stumbled into the river, and drowned. It was the kind of small-town tragedy that everyone talked about for weeks. I remember the way the neighborhood felt—heavy, like everyone was holding their breath.

Tom had always been a bit of a slacker, working odd jobs here and there, and he often borrowed money from my dad. Their family really had no savings. The Jenkinses were the kind of folks who always seemed a paycheck behind, never quite catching up. I always wondered how they managed.

Since his death was an accident, there was no insurance payout. His wife didn’t work either, so things got even harder for them. Linda Jenkins started wearing the same faded sweatshirt every day, and Maddie’s shoes had holes in the toes. It was obvious they were struggling.

My dad was known for being generous. After Tom died, his wife, Linda, would often ask my dad for help—fixing leaky faucets, moving boxes, even giving her rides to the ER when Maddie got sick. Folks in the neighborhood called him a good man, always ready to lend a hand. Sometimes I wondered if anyone noticed how much he gave.

During Thanksgiving, my dad didn’t even hang up decorations at our house; he went to put up a memorial wreath at hers first. He came home with his hands smelling like pine, his eyes red, saying, "It’s what Tom would’ve wanted." I remember feeling invisible, like we were always second place.

Even when Linda couldn’t wring out her laundry, she’d call my dad to help. He’d go over without a second thought, even if he’d just come home from a double shift. I’d watch him go, not sure if I was proud or annoyed.

They were all little things, but enough to make my mom furious. She’d slam cupboard doors, muttering under her breath. But never in front of Linda.

But since the man of the house was gone, my mom couldn’t bring herself to argue about it. The neighbors would gossip, saying we were bullying a widow and her kid. In a place like ours, reputation was everything.

So my mom could only vent at home, while my dad always said she was being petty, that he was just helping out a little. She’d roll her eyes, but he never seemed to notice. Sometimes I’d catch her looking at him, frustration written all over her face.

They’d fought about this plenty of times. Sometimes, I’d hear them through the thin walls at night, their voices rising and falling like the static on an old radio. I’d lie in bed, listening, wishing I could turn down the volume on my life.

Now, my dad had even given away my tuition. The one thing my mom had worked so hard to save. My chest tightened. I wanted to scream, but the words wouldn’t come.

My mom nearly fainted on the spot, gasping for air. "Their family’s struggling, but aren’t we? That money was for Savannah’s tuition! What is she supposed to do now that you’ve given it away?" She looked at me, eyes desperate, as if I could somehow make sense of it all. I just shook my head, speechless.

My dad glanced at me, trying to placate her. "Savannah, don’t you still have a few hundred saved? See how much you’re short, and I’ll put the rest on my credit card to cover your tuition." I just stared at him, stunned.

Hearing that, my heart turned cold. The kind of cold that starts in your stomach and works its way up, chilling your bones. I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing I could disappear.

I’d been disappointed by my dad again and again, but somehow, he always found a way to lower the bar even further. Every time I thought I’d hit bottom, he’d dig a little deeper. It was almost impressive, in a twisted way.

Choking up, I said, "Dad, that’s money I earned from my part-time job. I was saving up to buy a laptop." Even I could hear how small my voice was.

I knew things were tight at home. Last year, we scraped together a down payment for a tiny condo. We hadn’t even moved in yet, but the mortgage payments had already started. Boxes were stacked in the hallway, waiting for a future that felt just out of reach. The weight of it all pressed down on me.

Part of the down payment was borrowed. Every month, after getting paid, my parents would keep just enough for groceries and bills and put the rest toward debt and the mortgage. Every dollar was accounted for, every expense weighed against the future. I could feel the pressure in every conversation at dinner.

For years, they’d been saving for a down payment, and after buying the place, the pressure never let up. I felt it. The air at home always seemed a little heavier, the laughter a little more forced. Even the walls seemed to sigh with exhaustion.

Once I started staying on campus during the week, my parents sometimes went a whole month without eating meat at home. They’d tell me they just preferred beans and rice, but I knew better. I saw the way my mom eyed the meat counter at the store.

My college tuition was money my mom had pinched and saved for years, little by little. She’d skip her own haircuts, mend her old jeans, and tuck away whatever she could. Every sacrifice showed up in that account.

I really wanted a laptop for college, but I knew better than to ask. I planned to earn it myself. It was the one thing I wanted that I could get on my own terms.

After the SATs, I got a summer job. For the first time, I felt like a real adult—working long hours at a packaging plant, just like the grown-ups. The place smelled like cardboard and sweat, and the clock on the wall seemed stuck at 3:00 every afternoon. I remember thinking the day would never end.

After a month, I earned $600. I folded the bills and tucked them into an envelope under my mattress, counting them over and over like they might disappear. Each time, it felt a little more real.

I planned to work right up until the day before move-in, hoping to save another $300. That would make $900—enough for a decent laptop. I even picked out the one I wanted, bookmarking it online. I’d stare at the picture, imagining it was already mine.

But now, my dad wanted me to hand over that money for tuition. The thought made my stomach twist. I felt like I was being robbed, and there was nothing I could do.

Honestly, if we just hadn’t had the tuition saved, I wouldn’t have complained. I knew things were tough. I would’ve worked for it myself without a word.

But the fact that my dad gave away my tuition to someone else and then asked me to make up the difference—that’s what hurt. It felt like a betrayal, plain and simple.

I really didn’t want to give it up. It was the first money I’d ever earned myself. That envelope under my mattress felt like freedom. I’d never had anything that was truly mine before.

While my classmates were out at the county fair after the exam, I was the only one working in a warehouse. I could hear the distant sound of laughter and music from the fairgrounds on my walk home, the smell of funnel cakes drifting on the breeze. It made me ache with envy and pride at the same time.

Standing at the conveyor belt all day, my feet were so swollen and sore those first few days that even touching them hurt. I’d soak them in the tub at night, wincing as the hot water stung my blisters. Each ache was a reminder of what I was working toward.

My mom felt bad and told me to quit. She’d rub my feet and whisper, "It’s not worth it, honey." I could see the guilt in her eyes.

But I wanted that laptop, so I gritted my teeth and stuck it out. Once I got through the hardest part, I got used to it. The ache in my legs became background noise. I learned to push through.

My feet stopped swelling, but I was still exhausted—falling asleep as soon as I got home every day. I’d wake up with my work clothes still on, the sun already rising. It was like living in a loop.

"Dad, can’t Linda work herself? If she sits around all day, of course she has no money." I clenched my fists, angry. "And Maddie is the same age as me. If I can work in a warehouse, why can’t she? If they both worked this summer, they’d have enough for tuition."

"Hey, it’s not like Linda doesn’t want to work," my dad said, full of sympathy. "She tried a factory job, but she’s frail—after two days she fainted at work and had to go to the ER, which cost money. She didn’t earn anything, just spent more, so now she’s scared to work. And as for Maddie, she just lost her dad, she’s still grieving—how do you expect her to work?"

"Grieving, my ass! Her dad’s been gone a year." I shot back. "She seems pretty happy to me—always dressing up, shopping, singing karaoke with friends. She got into some community college—not even worth going, just a waste of money."

"Savannah, watch your mouth," my dad said, stern, his eyes narrowing like he was trying to remind me who was still the parent here.

"Who are you scolding?" My mom glared at him. "Is Savannah wrong? They’re both perfectly capable adults—shouldn’t they earn their own money? Why scold our daughter? Our Savannah is thoughtful and hardworking—she got into a top university. She’s way better than Maddie, who barely passed her classes!"

"You can’t just look at grades—" my dad tried to argue, his voice rising.

My mom cut him off. "Rick, I’m not arguing about anything else today. You have to go get that money back. Right now!" Her voice had the finality of a slammed door.

"Don’t be unreasonable," my dad protested. "I already gave it away—how can I ask for it back?"

"Fine." My mom took a deep breath and nodded. "If you won’t, then we’ll get a divorce." Her words landed like a thunderclap, the kind that makes you sit up straight.

"Divorce?" My dad was incredulous. "You’d get divorced over something this small? Really?" He looked stunned, like she’d slapped him across the face.

My mom was so angry she was nearly jumping, her voice cracking. "Small? Rick, that’s your daughter’s tuition! School’s about to start—what is she supposed to do?" Her hands shook as she pointed at me. I wanted to reach out, but I stayed rooted to the spot.

"Didn’t I say?" My dad always acted like nothing could faze him, no matter how mad everyone else was. "If Savannah doesn’t want to use her money, I’ll just put it all on my credit card—"

"And who’s going to pay off the credit card? We’ll still have to use our own money!" My mom was usually calm, but over the years, my dad had really pushed her to her limit. Her patience had worn thin, threadbare.

"We’ll pay it back slowly," my dad muttered, sounding defeated. He looked so small in that moment, I almost felt sorry for him.

"Fine, if you won’t go, I’ll go myself." My mom headed for the door, grabbing her purse with shaking hands. Her determination was like a force of nature.

"Hey, stop!" My dad chased after her, stumbling over his own feet as he followed her down the steps. I watched them go, not sure if I should follow or hide.

Out on Maple Avenue, my dad caught up with my mom. She looked determined. She shoved him hard—he stumbled, nearly falling—and she took the chance to run ahead, her sneakers slapping against the cracked sidewalk.

Everyone in our little neighborhood knew each other. Any commotion got noticed. You could feel the eyes behind every curtain, the whispers starting before you’d even finished your sentence. My stomach twisted with embarrassment.

My parents’ fight was obvious to everyone. Soon, a crowd of nosy neighbors gathered, trailing behind them to watch the drama unfold. Old Mr. Bailey from next door leaned on his cane, shaking his head like he’d seen it all before.

My mom ran to the Jenkins’ door and shouted inside, "Linda! Give me back my money! That’s Savannah’s college tuition!" Her voice rang out over the block, sharp as a siren. I cringed, knowing everyone would be talking about this for weeks.

"Why’s Carol yelling at the Jenkins’ about money?"

"No idea. Why would her daughter’s tuition be with Linda?"

"Bet it’s Rick again—"

"Probably. He’s been going to Linda’s a lot lately."

...

The neighbors whispered excitedly, their eyes shining with gossip. You could practically see the stories forming in their minds, ready to be retold at the next church potluck. I wanted to disappear.

My mom yelled for a while before a slender figure finally came out. Linda’s hair was pulled back, her face blotchy from crying. She looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.

Linda’s eyes were red, and her voice was soft. "Carol, is something wrong?" She spoke so quietly you had to lean in to hear. The contrast between her and my mom was almost comical.

Her gentle tone was a stark contrast to my mom’s loud voice. The two women stood on opposite ends of the porch, like a showdown in an old western. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

"It’s nothing—just a misunderstanding. Let’s go home," my dad rushed over, trying to pull my mom away. He whispered in her ear, "Let’s talk at home—this is so embarrassing." He shot nervous glances at the growing crowd, sweating bullets.

My mom shook him off and looked at Linda. "A few days ago, Rick gave you a thousand dollars, right? Don’t deny it—the bank record is there. That was Savannah’s tuition. He didn’t know. School’s about to start, and we need it urgently. Please return it now."

The crowd’s attention snapped to Linda. Her face turned bright red. She looked down at her phone, hands trembling. I almost felt sorry for her—almost.

"I—I’m not denying it," she said, on the verge of tears. "I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was Savannah’s tuition. I’ll return it right now."

She took out her phone. The crowd leaned in, watching every move like it was a reality show. My heart pounded in my chest.

"Don’t bother—just use it," my dad said, stepping forward to shield her. His voice was low, almost pleading. I wanted to scream at him.

Linda hesitated. She looked from my dad to my mom, then to the neighbors, her eyes darting like a trapped animal. The pressure was unbearable.

"If you don’t return it, I’ll sit here all day," my mom said, pulling up a lawn chair and sitting down. She crossed her arms, daring anyone to stop her. The crowd murmured in approval.

Linda bit her lip, but in the end, she transferred the money back to my mom through Venmo. The notification pinged on my mom’s phone, breaking the tension. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

Once the money came through, my mom stood up and left without another word. She walked home with her head high, not looking back. I followed, feeling a strange mix of pride and embarrassment.

My dad, looking humiliated, apologized to Linda, "Sorry, I didn’t want her to come, but she insisted..." He looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him up.

Linda wiped her tears and tried to look understanding. "It’s fine. I’ll start working tomorrow to earn Maddie’s tuition. I’m sorry for causing you trouble." Her voice was barely a whisper, and she looked so fragile in that moment.

She gave my dad a wounded look, then went back inside, closing the door quietly behind her. The porch felt emptier than ever.