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Chapter 5 - The Fallout at the UniversityBy Thursday evening, the reality of my severed financial ties finally caught up with Dalia at her university.

Without my tuition deposit clearing the bursar’s office, her enrollment status automatically flipped from active to suspended. Her online student portal locked her out of lecture modules, her registration for upcoming midterms was cancelled, and the university housing office issued an automated twenty-four-hour notice regarding her overdue residential fees.

For a girl who had spent her entire adult life treating consequences as optional, this was an existential crisis of unprecedented proportions.

I was in my home office going over quarterly consulting deliverables when my phone started vibrating incessantly on the desk.

Call after call. Text after text.

I ignored them all, letting them drop into voicemail.

Then came a text from an unknown number—evidently, Dalia had burned through every friend willing to lend her a phone, or she was finally using a classmate's device.

Vera, please! They're locking me out of my dorm room! My accounting midterm is tomorrow morning, and the professor won't let me take it if my portal says suspended! Please, I'm begging you, just pay the tuition for this semester. I'll pay you back, I swear!

I stared at the glowing screen.

Six months ago, reading those words would have triggered an immediate, agonizing wave of guilt. I would have grabbed my laptop, logged into the portal, wired the ten thousand dollars, and texted her a reassuring reply telling her everything was going to be okay.

I would have enabled her failure for another semester, just like I always did.

Instead, I locked my phone screen, set it face down, and went back to my spreadsheet.

Actions have consequences. It was a lesson Dalia was nearly a quarter-century late in learning, and no amount of sisterly rescue missions was going to save her from the crash.

At 7:00 PM, Micah walked into the office carrying two mugs of herbal tea. He set one down on my desk, looking at my quiet phone.

"Still blowing up?"

"Dalia is locked out of her portal and panicking," I said, taking a sip of the warm tea. "She’s finally realizing I wasn't bluffing."

"How are you holding up?" Micah asked softly, resting his hands on my shoulders. "Does any part of you feel guilty?"

I leaned back against him, closing my eyes for a second. "I felt guilty for about ten minutes on Monday. But then I remembered standing at the front of that venue, looking at our wedding cake smashed into the hardwood floor while my mother hugged my sister for throwing a tantrum. The guilt evaporated instantly, Micah. I'm done lighting myself on fire to keep Dalia warm."

"Good," he murmured, kissing the top of my head. "Because you deserve to put that energy into our life, not into cleaning up your family's endless messes."

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Little did we know, Dalia wasn't going to take institutional accountability lying down. If she couldn't manipulate me directly, she was going to deploy the heavy artillery.

And that artillery came knocking on our front door on Friday evening in the form of our mother, red-faced, breathless, and shaking with furious indignation.

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