My mom’s eyes flashed. “Don’t start. You’re going to help pay it off.”
My laugh came out sharp. “No. I’m not paying Kayla’s debt. That’s enabling.”
She stepped closer, invading my space. “Family sticks together, Morgan. You have savings.”
The way she said it—like my savings were a communal resource she had a right to—made my chest tighten. “I have savings because I worked for them. I didn’t buy them on a credit card.”
“You want your sister to suffer?” she snapped.
I held her gaze. “I want her to learn.”
My mom’s face twisted into the anger of a queen questioned by a peasant. “You’re going to regret this,” she whispered, turning to leave and slamming my door behind her.
I stood there, heart pounding, and told myself it was done. Boundaries.
At 6:12 a.m. the next morning, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. Then again. And again.
I grabbed it and saw a cascade of bank alerts.
Credit card: new charge.
Savings: withdrawal.
